


And So It Goes

by typeriter



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Absent Parents, Alpha Otabek Altin, Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Background Original Characters - Freeform, Coming of Age, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Genderfluid Dressing, High School, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Menstruation, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Omega Yuri Plisetsky, Omegaverse, Pining, Platonic Yuri and Yuuri, Poor attempts at humor, Post-Canon, Puberty, Social Media, Teenage Drama, asthmatic character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typeriter/pseuds/typeriter
Summary: Life isn’t easy for a sixteen year old. It’s especially not easy for a sixteen-year world champion figure skater. With all that on his shoulders, Yuri Plisetsky is not expecting to have to deal with presenting, and subsequently having to re-navigate the worlds of skating, friendship, and love.But first, he needs to finish this damn ice show tour he's been coerced into.AKA Yuri presents as an omega and everything changes except for one thing: Otabek still won't take him seriously.





	1. Hopeless

**Author's Note:**

> So I was highly inspired by other works in this fandom set in the ABO universe (talented af writers, JESUS), as well as this fic I read called "Nu ABO" by decompositionbooks.
> 
> I will admit that I don't really ship Otayuri SUPER hard but I really like writing from Yuri's POV and I love Otabek, so I'm going to try as hard as I can to please y'all. I honestly can't wait to write some of these scenes I had in my mind, but I realized I needed to string them together with plot.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

 

In hindsight, Yuri should’ve figured that the incident that ruined his life would be Viktor Nikiforov’s fault.

You know, he’d had his life together (sort of) before _it_ happened. He’d had healthy relationships before _it_ happened (not really). He’d even had a fool-proof plan for continued success (maybe). But of course, the universe saw him and said: “You know what, this kid _doesn’t_ already have a fuckton on his plate!”

Despite being almost seventeen, Yuri considers himself very loyal to his everyday routine, a trait important in his field and one that few people in his peer group possess. On average, Yuri’s days went a little something like this:

Day in, day out. Yoghurt and fruit, then the rink to train. Borscht and a sandwich, more training. He'll walk back to the apartment if the weather permits, but he almost always commutes home in the colder seasons, especially since it's getting harder and harder for Dedushka to drive. Once he gets home, his grandfather will try to force feed him, even though the food he cooks is not technically part of his diet because, "You're still a growing boy, Yuratchka!". Afterwards, he'll pretend to be doing his homework while he actually just fucks around on his phone, or, as of late, texts Beka while ignoring Viktor's frequent check-ins. Before bed he eats a spoon of peanut butter for 'calories' or whatever and then slips into bed only to lie wide awake.

This is Yuri Plisetsky's life. Or, at least, it _was_ before everything went to shit (again, thanks Viktor). Sure, he might attend school in person once every few months, but even on the off-season, his life very much revolves around skating. He'd had to go through hell with Yakov to convince him to let Yuri visit his grandfather in Moscow, even if there wasn't anything particularly pressing approaching. Unless you counted that damn ice show tour that the ISU has planned. 

Granted, Yuri guesses it's better to just start with the night before _it_ happened. 

 

 

Yuri leaned against a pole of the metro train, earphones hidden underneath a thick hood. He was listening to Otabek's latest recommendation, an older album of one of his favorite alt-rock bands. It was a little too mellow in his opinion, but not too bad. He couldn't imagine choreographing a routine to it. Around him, people stood checking their phones, chattering with their friends. It was past rush hour now, so it wasn't too crowded, especially towards the end of the line, where Deda's apartment is. In front of him, there was an advertisement for some kind of perfume, a well-known omega actress entirely naked, save for the bottle covering the front of her body. 

It was supposed to be appealing, but Yuri just found it kind of funny. And stupid. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and Yuri's heart lurched a bit as he checked the notification. Otabek. Yuri eagerly unlocked his phone to see that he's sent a video of himself (or, at least his hand) petting a stray tabby that somewhat resembles Potya. 

He hated the way his chest warmed a bit. It was indicative of something he wasn't quite ready to decipher. Luckily, he was interrupted by a robotic female voice announcing that they had reached his stop. Yuri readjusted his bag and exited the train, all while thinking about how to reply appropriately.

_'Solid content, 10/10'_ he ended up sending, a smirk on his lips. 

' _:-)_ ' is all he got in response. Yuri snorted as he made his way through the station, what a dork. Who even puts a nose in his damn smiley faces? 

The bitter cold of Moscow in late January hit him hard after he finally reached ground level, and Yuri pulled out yet another coat before stepping fully outside. It's been particularly unforgiving weather this year, and almost everything was covered in a thick layer of snow. Regardless, Yuri's more used to the weather in St. Petersburg now. It's even further north than Moscow. 

Once Yuri finally reached the apartment he raced up the stairs (elevator's broken) to the fourth floor, where his grandfather's apartment is. He knew he was already home from work because he could smell the strong scent of his cooking. Despite himself, Yuri felt his face break into a grin. He knew  _exactly_ what his grandfather was cooking. 

"Deda," he called as he kicked off his shoes in the entrance to the small sitting room and set his gear on their dust-bathed velvet couch. "I'm back," he glanced towards the door of the kitchen right ahead, the source of the smell of pirozhki and his grandfather's out-of-tune whistling. His grandfather poked his head out of the doorway and his warm brown eyes seemed to brighten even more. 

"Yuratchka! Come here so I can see my favorite boy more clearly." 

Yuri rolled his eyes good-naturedly and sauntered into the kitchenette, where he could see the small oven glowing and the contents inside. He let himself be wrestled into a bear hug and breathed deeply into Dedushka's sweater, inhaling his scent. Everyone seems to be obsessed with the sweet, addictive scents of omegas but honestly, Yuri has never enjoyed anyone's scent as much as his beta grandfather's. It's crisp, like the pages of a freshly-printed book with the warm musk of tobacco. Although, the latter is probably from his guilty pleasure of smoking (which he will never,  _ever_ let Yuri do in his entire life). What a hypocrite. 

Then again, Yuri's sense of smell was more limited than most because he  _still_ hadn't fucking presented officially yet. At this rate, he was fairly certain he was going to be a beta.

"Jesus," Yuri smirked devilishly. "I just came home from practice, like every other day. You'd think that I'd almost died with this kind of reception." 

Of course, his grandfather delivered. "That might still be a possibility if you don't put that hood down under this roof right now, young man." 

Yuri rolled his eyes dramatically at his grandfather's traditional ways and pulled his hood down, "Do you need any help with anything?" 

"No, we should be good to go in a few minutes."

A while later, the two of them were sitting across from each other on their small, round dinner table. Yuri practically inhaled the first two buns while answering his grandfather’s inquiries about his day.

All of a sudden, Kolya chuckled deeply, causing Yuri to pause his dining to look up. “Oh, go on, Yuratchka. Nothing wrong. I’m just glad to see you eating so fiercely.”

Yuri paused and swallowed the mushroom filling. Damn. He hadn’t noticed how _hungry_ he was until he started eating. “I don’t… I guess I’m just more tired from practice today than I thought.”

That was kind of odd, considering he hadn’t done anything particularly straining that day and he was still in shape.

Kolya hummed thoughtfully. “Well, feel free to take mine. It’s nice to see you’ve regained your appetite since you weren’t feeling well a few days ago. I’m not too hungry.”

“What - Deda, don’t be ridiculous. You need to eat too, for God’s sake.”

“My grandson is leaving me in a few days for St. Petersburg. I think I’ll be okay if indulge him,” he replied with a small smile. “Besides, the government sent their check to us early today. You’ve earned the right to eat the food that you’ve bought.”

Yuri ducked his head down and returned to his meal, choosing to eat rather than think too much about it. 

After dinner, Dedushka bid Yuri a good night and left to retire for the night, hoping that Yuri would pend some time working on that essay he had to turn in online for school about a week ago.

Ha. Not a chance in hell. Besides, it’s not like they can punish Russia’s up-and-coming national treasure.

Inevitably, Yuri spent some time fucking around online instead, rewatching some programs from the past season, including the ones that had consistently kept him from the gold in major competitions.

Yeah, fuck you Viktor and Katsudon. At least the geezer was finally retiring after a shit ton more gold medals (which he stole from Yuri). Unfortunately, Yuri still had to deal with the shit ton of other mediocre (okay, they're pretty good) skaters that had already debuted, not to mention some new ones. 

Yuri slammed the screen of his laptop closed. All of his growing anger was just making him hungry, so he walked back into the other room to grab a snack. Now, he generally saves his stash of junk food for a few special days, but Yuri decided that he deserved to have some white mushroom and sour cream chips   _now._

Yuri slunk into his room, precious cargo in hand, only to find Puma Tiger Scorpion napping in the center of his mattress like she owned the place. Fine, technically she had the room to herself for most of the year, but _still._ The nerve. “Oi,” he scolded. “Move over, you brat.” 

After Potya leaped off and went to go stalk some other room, Yuri spent the next hour scrolling through Instagram. For once @v-nikiforov wasn’t continuously spamming pictures of his mate and dog, but Yuri attributed that to Katsudon’s heat (which he did _not_ need so many texts about, thank you Viktor).

Instead, he finds Otabek spamming posts about a recent gig at a club in Almaty. Honestly, he needs to start prioritizing skating more before Yuri starts acknowledging his own lack of a life outside of it. Scrolling down, his mouth suddenly felt dry.

Pictured was Otabek, clearly in a club judging from the dim lighting, hair soaked and white t-shirt plastered with sweat, headphones resting around his strong neck. The outline of firm muscle on his arms was clearly visible in the lighting.

And this bastard had the audacity to claim he despised social media.

_'Finished my first gig at @rockcrystalclub'_ was all the caption said. _Fuck_. If Yuri had been in the right state of mind, he would’ve stopped to wonder why Otabek hadn’t told him he was busy when they were texting just a few hours earlier. If Yuri had been in the right state of mind, he _definitely_ would not have done what happened next.

All of a sudden, it seemed like too much to be looking at the stupid picture any longer. Yuri clicked his phone shut and laid back on the mattress. He felt fuzzy and warm, and his cheeks heated as he tried to convince himself to not do this again, not give into temptation. 

Otabek was attractive. Everyone knew that, including Yuri. But a ton of people were, and Yuri just happened to be in a field, where, miraculously, literally everyone he knew was disturbingly attractive. Viktor was, although Yuri didn't want to dwell on that for too long. Katsudon  _obviously_ was. As much as he hated to admit it, Jean-Jacques 'I-have-too-many-names' Leroy was also pretty hot. But Yuri had never felt  _this_ for any of them before, at least not to this extent. Stupid hormones. 

Okay, so he's a healthy teenage boy, aside from being the only human not knowing what he was going to present as at birth. Teenagers get turned on. A lot. They also jerk off a lot. He knows, objectively, despite spending barely any time In school, that these are all normal things. 

But here was Yuri's problem: How many people masturbate to their kind-of,  _sort-of_ friend while pretending everything is completely platonic between them? At least Otabek lived in a different country, so Yuri wouldn't have to be tortured by his scent and alpha pheromones, all while mourning his general lack of the latter. He's almost seventeen years old, for god's sake, and he still had that doughy, milky scent of a pup more than anything else. How pathetic. 

And wasn't just a physical thing either. Otabek was so cool and composed, well-rounded and talented even beyond being a world-class skater. Everyone liked or admired him, even though he kept to himself. He had tons of friends back in Kazakhstan, a future after skating in music, a great relationship with his mother. Hah. 

Yuri sighed and let his hands drift down towards the waistband of his sweatpants, right above the space between the protrusion of his small hip bones. He let himself stare at the strip of skin exposed on his abdomen, right in between where his shirt had ridden up and where his pants began, at the firm lines of muscle chiseled into an otherwise delicate, pale looking body.

_Hopeless._ He turned his head into a pillow to muffle his whine after he slowly lowered his palm down onto his slight erection, rolling his hips against it.

He just hoped he wouldn't feel dirty the next morning, even after cleaning his mess.

Feeling the growing warmth of arousal, Yuri slid down underneath his sweatpants, crept his fingers underneath his boxer-briefs to gain better access, imagining Otabek with him. On him.

_In him._

God, he was such a freak. Thank god his grandfather was a heavy sleeper, he never knew about this, he could never know about it. Maybe he suspected, but Yuri relied on any small noises being heard only by his pillow. He groaned softly as he wrapped his hand around the base of his sex and rolled his hips, faster and faster -

He came, not for the first time, to the thought of his best friend. He needed a shower to wash away his guilt, and _ASAP._

Yuri sighed, gazing at the mess of clear, sticky release on his hand. Thankfully none of it had gotten anywhere that wasn’t easily cleanable. Another very unfortunate aspect of this whole biology thing was that while he had technically passed puberty (albeit as, again, a late bloomer), his body still hadn’t officially presented. Alphas and omegas usually already had their first heat or rut by this time, but Yuri couldn’t even get the decency of a modest beta presentation. Embarrassingly enough, he _still_ couldn’t produce the sperm that alphas and male betas made, making all his releases clear. Not for the first time, he tried not to think of the possible implications of that, what if -

He cursed his mother (again). If only she had been even slightly considerate enough to think that maybe her son would like to know what to expect when he presented before she left.

Oh well, Yuri supposed as he stood with shaky legs and tentatively made his way out to the single bathroom. Puberty had already fucked with him enough the first time his body had changed, completely shifting his center of gravity. Yakov had had to console him while he relearned every single thing he’d perfected in his skating career up to that point.

He really didn’t need the inconvenience of another drastic body change.

He kicked off his sweatpants and now-soiled underwear (he’d need to clean it in the sink before his grandfather would see), peeling off his shirt and throwing it to the tiled floor. Yuri sighed as he surveyed himself in the mirror - he was aware that he looked different from when he’d won the Grand Prix Final last year, back when he had the build of a child. Now his limbs had lengthened and the lingering roundness in his face had faded away. The title of the Russian fairy, given to him to describe his size and litheness now had a very different kind of connotation when applied to him now.

Apparently, he was stupidly pretty now. He’d seen the posts the Angels had tagged him in, praising his ‘emerald orbs’ and the condition of his hair. Despite his height change, he still stupidly slender, which apparently equated to ‘elegance’ or some shit.

A pretty face. A skinny body. Yuri snorted as he surveyed himself in the mirror. Fat lot of good that had done for him in life. You didn’t need to be attractive to skate well (even though there was a weird trend going), and it just made people’s speculations about his presentation more annoying. Yuri didn’t care if people found him attractive or -

Not. Sometimes people just treat you like a younger sibling, even if you’ve shared things with them you’ve never told anyone else.

Fuck it. Yuri sauntered over to the shower and washed as thoroughly as possible, even if the water was alternating between scalding hot and freezing continuously. It felt surprisingly soothing after a while. As soon as he got out, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, preparing to make a run towards his room to get clothed as soon as possible because even with the heating on it was _too damn cold._

  

**New Messages From: Beka (ര̀ᴗര́)و ̑̑**

 

_Good night_

_[23:34]  
_

_Get lots of rest please_

_[23:34]_

_Can't wait to see you in the spring._

_[23:37]_

 

_'I like your picture',_ Yuri wanted to write. ' _I like you',_ he wanted to write even more. 

  _good night beka_

_Delivered [23:42]_

Hopeless. This time, Yuri muffles a very different kind of scream into his pillow as he falls back onto his bed.

 

 

The next morning, Yuri felt like shit as he walked through the glass doors of his temporary-training rink. Which was kind of inconvenient, considering the fact that he did  _not_ have time to get sick, be it on the ice or on the plane back to St. Petersburg that he'd need to take in four days. His stomach was cramping, which made no sense because he hadn't eaten anything bad lately (he thinks), and despite the fact that it was freezing balls outside, he'd somehow managed to work up a sweat. Also, he was fucking hungry and nauseous at the same time.

Seeing the beta girl working behind the desk only contributed further to his nausea. Irina was absolutely one of Yuri's "Angels" and absolutely annoying - she somehow  _always_ managed to be working at the same time Yuri came to the rink in the morning, which was both very irritating and very admirable, considering the fact that he got in around seven in the morning. 

"Yuratchka," she cooed, twirling strands of mousy brown hair around her finger. "It's been a long time, hasn't it? You smell  _amazing_ today, is it a new cologne?"

Yuri determinedly walked past her as fast as possible without making any eye contact. Sure, he appreciated his fans (maybe), but he just can't  _deal_ with them the same way that Viktor has always been able to, with poise and charm and an endless amount of patience. Besides, he's never tried to be what he's not - he  _knows_ he's an asshole, and so should his fans. 

"Wait - wait! Yuratchka! There's a package for you! I have to give it to you!"

Yuri halted. Okay, fine, a package. That was kind of unusual, but it was probably just Viktor sending him random shit and souvenir pictures of his and Katsudon's romantic getaways. He was always begging Yuri to tell him his home address in Moscow, but he had always vehemently refused. He does not want to wake up to find Viktor on the velvet couch, hitting it off with Dedushka. 

Yuri sighed, "Just hand it over, alright?" 

Irina squealed, probably dying at the fact that Yuri had just spoken to her for the first time. "Sure, sure, let me just get it out of the back.  _Oh_ , and um-" she looked down, a faint pink dusting her cheeks. "It... it has a pretty _intense_ scent, though. Just to warn you." 

For fuck's sake. Yuri sighed impatiently as Irina puttered around in the room behind the desk, finally coming out with a small box, decorated cutely with poodle stickers,  and her nose covered.

“Here, take it, Yuratchka,” she said in a pinched voice, “but just be careful-”

“It’s fine,” Yuri snapped as he grabbed the box and moved towards the rink and _-_

_Oh._ He was suddenly accosted with a wave of ecstasy, spreading heat throughout his body, radiating especially through his thighs and neck glands. His cramps stopped but were replaced with -

A distinct gush of dampness in his underwear. He heard voices shouting at him as the world blurred, fuzzy, just like he was feeling in his body, the scent of jasmine and fresh linens laced with something _darker, muskier_ everywhere. Oh, he wanted it, aching more intensely in between his legs than he’d ever felt, panting as someone touches his forehead before shrieking and yelling at everyone to back away. It felt so good, having someone’s hand on him, and he started whining at them to come back, move it lower, lower _please_.

_Please._ His last thought before exhaustion took over and everything faded into darkness.

 

 

And that’s it. That’s how Yuri is where he is now, quite possibly more fucked than he’s ever been in his life. And it’s all thanks to Viktor Nikiforov and his stupid hormones, couldn’t have even used his brain and waited till his pheromones from Katsudon’s heat faded to send a package of fan letters to him.

Fan letters. That’s the root of Yuri’s suffering. Because if none of this had happened, Yuri wouldn’t have fucking gone into heat, he wouldn’t have presented as a fucking omega, and worst of all, he wouldn’t have to look at the stupid faces of Yakov, Lilia, Katsudon, and the idiot Viktor Nikiforov himself.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” Yuri growls, surprised to be met with a distinct soreness in his throat. His body feels weighed down with lead, confined to his grey bedsheets which, horrifyingly, are _covered_ in stains. He’d only barely had time to cover his naked body with the sheet,  right before the team from hell had waltzed into his room.

Everyone just stares at him for a small eternity, eyes drifting from his face to his sheets before Yakov finally speaks up. “Yura… how are you feeling?”

His voice sounds different from usual, rather than the usual growl or angry yell, it’s softer and even a little unsure. Yuri glances at his face, his eyes are carefully averted, hands fidgeting awkwardly.

It feels _wrong_. All of this feels wrong, and Yuri would normally be pissed off and snapping by now, but he’s _embarrassed._ “Like shit,” he manages to croak. His eyes dart around to the others in his room. Viktor is dressed to the nines, frowning stupidly, head tilted to the side as he surveys him.

That fucking bastard. He has an arm wrapped around Katsudon, who says nothing as he leans against his mate, only looking at him in pity with those stupid big puppy eyes. Only Lilia seems to be acting normal, her thin brow arched as she glares at Yuri as if he’s mud on her designer boots.

Yeah, she’s definitely the only one acting normal.

“Well,” Lilia finally says, breaking the silence. “It’s pretty obvious what the next course of action is. We need to visit a specialist for Yuri to adjust his supplements before we fly back to Saint Petersburg for training.”

_Supplements._ Fancy speak for some sort of hormone pill because, lucky him, he happens to be an omega in a professional setting that relies on one’s body functions. Yuri groans and tries to slink further under the covers, which only fucking serves to remind him that he’s _naked_ under the sheets, feeling a distinct dampness in between his thighs, in front of everyone.

“Can we fucking not?” Yuri whines. “At least let me be clothed before we have this conversation. Also, I’m hungry. What time is it?”

“Mid-morning. Your grandfather has offered to serve breakfast, we’ll talk once you’ve… cleaned up a bit.”

Yuri moves as soon as they clear out of the room, and is immediately met with soreness in between his legs as they quiver like jelly when he tries to stand up. Well, fuck. He’s going to have to find a way to get to the bathroom on his own because he refuses to ask anyone for help, especially not Viktor Nikiforov. His abdomen and legs are coated with crusted bodily fluids and the skin on his neck feels sore and raw.

The trek to the bathroom is painful and characterized by Yuri holding onto a flimsy towel to preserve his modesty with one hand while he props himself against the wall with the other. Imagine, one of the world’s best athletes rendered helpless because his damn uterus wants to kill him.

Dear god, he has a _uterus_ now. Or has always had one. Whatever. He can get _pregnant_.

Disgusting.

Yuri doesn’t even want to look in the mirror by the time he gets to the bathroom a small eternity later. He can feel the tangles and knots in his hair, and he doesn’t think he can stand to see himself look so filthy. He doesn’t even really want to think about what he had done over the past few days to himself. How could he face his Deda after this?

He can’t stand very well so he resorts to sitting down in the tub while the water cascades down onto him. It’s an excellent setting for feeling sorry for oneself and Yuri indulges in it for a good while, letting the water wash away the evidence of his new biology.

An omega. Huh. He’s always thought of them as distant and separate from himself, only hearing about them through history lectures about social justice and in the locker rooms with the alphas and beta boys as they talked about their fantasies. Well, at least he won’t have to change in the same room as them, he’ll definitely have to be moved to the omega locker room.

It’s a shame, since he didn’t really make a habit of befriending the omegas in his grade at school, and there weren’t really any at his rink in Saint Petersburg.

Someone was gracious enough to sneak a small stack of clothes into the room while he was bitching about his life, so at least Yuri’s able to deck out in a comfortable leopard-print hoodie and some sweats before he’s sent to the slaughterhouse.

“... changes everything. He’ll have to work out a schedule for his... _heats_ now and hope that it doesn’t interfere with his career - “

Yakov. Yuri pauses before he turns the corner into the dining area.

“Don’t mind that, it shouldn’t be too different from ruts. You’ve coached alphas before, don’t freak out now that you have an omega, Yakov. Besides, my Yuuri’s been sharing a rink with you for a whole season and you’ve been fine -”

“I’d appreciate if you not use this as yet another opportunity to brag about your mate, Vitya.”

“I - oh, don’t worry, _dorogoi_ ,” Viktor switches to English abruptly. “We’re not saying anything bad about you, love. Besides, I think -”

“I do believe that the guest of honor has arrived,” Lilia says sharply, and Yuri freezes. _Fuck_ , how did she even know? As soon as Yuri steps (limps) out into the open, he’s greeted with the sight he’d hoped to never see: his coaches and the most annoying couple ever, sitting around the circle table, looking right at home in _his and Dedushka’s house._

“Yurio!” Viktor's face breaks into his signature grin. “How are you?” He tries to stand at the table to greet him, but only ends up almost tipping over a mug of black tea.

_How the fuck does he think Yuri is?_

“Yuri, sit down. Your grandfather should be back with some bread soon. You probably need to have something in your system, you barely ate anything during your heat,” Lilia says smoothly, throwing the dreaded word into the open for the first time amongst them.

True to her word, Kolya returns with a few paper bags of bread from a nearby bakery. He looks worried, and more tired than usual but still offers Yuri a soft smile.

“Good morning, my darling Yuratchka,” he says softly. “I’m sorry you did not feel good. I couldn’t do much to help you.”

Yuri gulps. He’d really just obsessively touched himself for extended periods of time with his grandfather in close quarters, whining for a knot. “Morning, Deda. Isn’t that bakery only open on Wednesdays?”

“It _is_ Wednesday.”

Shit, so it’s been five days. He’s supposed to be in Saint Petersburg by now, back at the rink and practicing with the others, not recovering from a few days of dehydration and starvation as he finger fucked himself repeatedly.

Breakfast is an awkward affair, initially. Yuri devours most of the food, as the others seem to humor him by holding back on talking about the new discovery immediately. His grandfather is instantly charmed by Katsudon, offering the foreign omega extra eggs in broken English and inquiring about his impressions of Russia as Viktor translates.

“It’s my first time in Moscow,” Yuuri says softly in practiced Russian. He’s been working on it since he moved here with Viktor last year, and Yuri really wishes his accent were annoying instead of endearing like everyone seems to find it.

Speaking of Katsudon, he hasn’t spoken to Yuri a _single_ time since he woke up, and it’s annoying how strangely upsetting he finds it. Damn it, Katsudon’s supposed to be the nice, mature one. Although, Yuri supposes, he wouldn’t be too happy to talk to the kid who went into sex overdrive after smelling his mate’s mating pheromones.

Yeah, he gets it. Yuri sulks as he shoves his fifth roll into his mouth.

“Yuri,” Lilia breaks through his thoughts. “I scheduled an appointment with a doctor for later today. I’m thinking that Yuuri and I will accompany you to the appointment, so be ready to go after breakfast, okay?”

Yuri grunts in reply, swallowing the hunk of bread. Even better, he gets to be lectured about his sex life and biology all while sitting next to the mate of the guy who did this to him. Stupid as it is, he really doesn’t want Katsudon to hate him. 

“We’ve re-scheduled your flight to Saint Petersburg to the same one as ours,” Yakov says grumpily, tearing apart a piece of bread. “We’ll leave in a couple of days. I hope you’ll be packed and ready.”

“Great,” Yuri replies in a similar manner, making a point to aggressively cut his sausage, the knife grating across his plate obnoxiously. Lilia just sighs.  

 

 

It’s so damn quiet in the waiting room that Yuri can hear the sound of someone texting from from the other side of the room. 

Yuri forgot to bring his own phone, but he’s sure that it’d be out of battery anyway, so he’s just entertaining himself by reading the infographics about STDs and strep throat on the wall while Lilia and Katsudon read on their phones. Viktor had insisted upon saying goodbye to Yuuri for a whole hour, hugging him and being gross and touchy. Apparently the post-heat stage made alphas clingy towards their mates.

Jesus, he’s bored, but there’s no one to talk to. He’d rather gouge his eyes out than try to have a fun conversation, and as for Katsudon, Yuri supposes there’s no good way to say, “Oh hey, sorry about that but your mate’s obvious hormones pretty much made me horny. Nothing to worry about.”

But ever since Katsudon started kicking his ass at pretty much every cup last season, he’s not too big on the idea of apologizing to him.

A few seats over, a teenage girl is trying to subtly take a picture of the three of them, and Yuri feels so pitiful that he doesn’t even try to call her out or flip her off. It’s almost a relief when a nurse calls his name to tell him that the doctor’s ready to see him.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” the doctor greets him as soon as they walk into the examination room. She’s middle aged and brunette, and seems to be a beta. “Please, lie back in the chair.” The plaque on her desk reads _"_ _Olga Sokolova, PhD.”_ , so at least Yuri knows that she’s qualified to poke around his body. 

“We’re just here to make sure he’s recovered properly from the stress of his first heat - he’s a late presenter. And to set up a supplement plan for him,” Lilia cuts in immediately. “He’s a professional figure skater and he also has to attend high school sometimes. You know how teenagers are.I don’t want anything to jeopardize his career or health,” she adds helpfully.

Yuri groans as he slams his head back into the dentist-style chair over and over. He doesn’t need to listen to Lilia’s concerns that he’s going to be fucking jumped by his classmates. They don’t _actively_ fuck with him. If he were her, he’d be more worried about the stinking, testosterone-fueled pack of hockey players they share the rink with.

“Yes,” Dr. Sokolova smiles softly at him. Her eyes are a muted grey and, despite himself, Yuri has to admit they’re pretty comforting. “I _definitely_ might have heard that before. It’s an honor to have some of the most spectacular athletes I’ve seen in my clinic.” She nods at Yuuri, who’s awkwardly leaning back on the wall in the corner.

“Nice to meet you,” he stammers shakily in Russian, looking caught off-guard. Dr. Sokolova just laughs and winks at him, and even though Yuri really has no idea what mothers are like, he figures they must be something like this lady. She’s not too bad.

“Now, let’s get started. Congratulations on presenting, by the way,” Dr. Sokolova says conversationally, carefully brushing his hair off the side of his neck to examine his gland.

“Thanks,” Yuri grunts. It’s a bit awkward having someone so close to such an intimate part. It’s not like he gets to the dynamic specialist doctors very often, they’re expensive and Yuri and his grandfather had pretty much been left in the dark about this kind of thing. “Wasn’t really expecting to start leaking slick in public at the rink, but I guess it’s just another wonderful surprise for me.”

Dr. Sokolova ceases her examination, looking at him with creased brows. “You weren’t previously aware of what you would present as? Did you not have access to the test records?”

For fuck’s sake. He can hear Lilia murmuring softly to Katsudon, translating the doctor’s words. “No,” he croaks, “never did. Figured I’d be a beta since my hormones had been in hiding for so long, so that’s just what I filled out as my predictive on all the files.”

“Yurio…” Yuuri finally speaks, voice soft as a feather. “What happened to the dynamic test results? Everyone’s families gets them when they’re born.”

Yuri feels something thick and cold gathering deep inside, cementing itself to the sides of his throat. “Yeah, well not mine. My sad excuse for a mother took them with her when she left, if she even cared enough to ask for the results in the first place.”

It’s quiet for a while, and Yuri has to dig his fingernails into his palms to curb his anger. Breathe, in and out. He can fucking feel the pity radiating from everyone in the room, he needs -

“How are you doing, identity-wise? You’re not the first one to be in this kind of situation. I know that it can be very surprising and… disorienting to some once they present, especially as an alpha or omega.”

“I mean… I’m not entirely surprised, I guess. ” Yuri tries to act nonchalant as he shrugs. Keep his voice neutral. People have definitely assumed that he was an omega before, from his hair, to his face shape, or how skinny he is.  “Could be worse. Everything smells more intense. I still feel hungry as shit and I wish I hadn’t asked for dick in front of everyone.”

Lilia sighs and presses fingers to her temples while Yuuri just looks confused. Bless the language barrier.

“Alright,” Dr. Sokolova wheels away from Yuri, begins to write something unintelligible on a notepad. “If you need to talk to anyone, just know that there are resources available. I could give you the contact information to some of my colleagues, and there are multiple reliable websites you can visit.”

As soon as Yuri opens his mouth to protest that _no,_ he doesn’t need help, Lilia interjects. “That’d be very nice, thank you for offering.”

“No problem. At this point I’d normally have to examine the anal passage to make sure that everything is healthy and functioning normally,” Dr. Sokolova tears off the piece of paper and hands it to Lilia. “But something tells me you’re the type of young man to be straightforward if anything was painful to you. However, if there’s any lingering discomfort a week from now, please notify me.”

 If his ass still aches like a bitch in a week, call the doctor. Got it.

“So, without further ado, shall we begin talking about what kind of hormones and supplements you’ll be taking? Have you had any time to think about your preferences before coming here?”

“He’ll be needing heat suppressants, the strongest ones available that are still safe for his age. Also, if there’s any kind of scent muter that would help keep his pheromones under control? It’s an ISU requirement for the athletes,” Lilia rattles off, sharp green eyes scanning Yuri’s body up and down. He’s starting to feel a little bit violated, just lying there while Lilia finds a way to meddle with his secondary gender too. Soon enough she’ll find a way to start planning his funeral.

Dr. Sokolova continues jotting down notes at her desk. “I think I have the perfect suppressant. It’s a newer pill, but it’s tested really safe, especially for younger omegas. You’ll take the pill orally every day and only have to deal with heats once a year instead of every three months or so.You can pick it up at the desk right after we’re done here, and it’s available at a lot of drug stores. As for the scent blockers,” she pauses to glance at him.

Yuri knows something bad is coming.

“I don’t recommend it for newly presented omegas, as you’re still developing your scent. You’ll have to wait for a couple of months till you can start using muting products, but after that there’s an abundance of creams or soaps you can apply. And don’t worry about safety things in the months before you can start using it, times have changed a lot,” Dr. Sokolova tries to give him a comforting smile. She fails. 

“Great, instead of having to fear being assaulted by a creep on the streets, I can subject myself to harassment once I get married,” Yuri deadpans quietly in English, hoping that the doctor won’t understand.

“ _Yuri_ ,” Lilia hisses. She sounds like kind of like a cat, except less cool. Much less cool.

Katsudon pipes up, “Yurio, it’s really not as bad as it was a few hundred years ago, really. The stereotypes are just propaganda. People treat omegas much better nowadays. There’s a lot to enjoy about it, actually.”

“Easy for you to say,” Yuri turns to face Katsudon, still leaning stupidly against the wall. “You’ve known you were going to be an omega your whole life.”

“Alright,” Dr. Sokolova cuts in. “I think we’re almost done. Now, do you need to arrange for contraception?”

 Oh. _Oh._

 Lilia’s trying to be subtle as possible, but Yuri can spot the glint of her beady eyes on him, a vulture circling its prey, as she waits for him to answer first (for once).

“Of course not,” he huffs, more to Lilia than the doctor. He’s sixteen, for god’s sake, and this isn’t a damn American TV show.

“I know this may be awkward to talk about, but even if you’re not currently sexually active, it might be a good idea to set up a plan right now so you can easily obtain contraception when you do become involved with someone,” Dr. Sokolova says smoothly, looking at him expectantly.

“Yuuri,” says Lilia in English. “Do you have any recommendations for contraceptive methods for our Yuri here? I’m fairly sure you’re knowledgeable in the matter, and I’m not an omega.”

Katsudon smooth cheeks are stained with pink, spreading out to the rest of his face as he gapes at Yuri. “O-oh… I mean, wow. Um, I have an implant in my arm, it’s really useful because it can stay there for a long time but I don’t really know what you would prefer. Sorry I'm not much help.”

“Can I think about this later?” Yuri asks, trying to stop the rush of heat towards his face.

Dr. Sokolova, thankfully, nods. “Feel free to take some time and do your research before deciding what’s best for you. Just make sure you’re prepared for when you’re ready.”

Yuri nods. “Don’t worry, I will.” 

“Alright,” Dr. Sokolova finishes writing something in her notebook and stands up. “We’re almost done here. There’s just one more step left - if you’d like to come with me, Mr. Plisetsky. Don’t worry, this won’t take too long.”

Yuri glances towards Lilia, who just nods her head at him. He slides out of the chair and follows the doctor out the door and down the hallway, till they reach a grey door. Before Dr. Sokolova opens it, however, she stops and turns to Yuri.

“This may be a bit embarrassing for you, but I promise that you won’t regret it by the time your next heat hits. As you know, the law grants omegas and alphas these sorts of things for their reproductive cycles once they reach a certain age. Pick any one you want.”

And then, she swings open the door.

Yuri’s eyes go wide as he tries to resist the instinct to immediately look away. Holy sh _-_

He ends up returning to the waiting room, neon pink knotting vibrator concealed in a discrete paper bag. Lilia and Katsudon are discussing something but immediately cease when they see him. Yuri hates how his first thought is that they _know._

“I’ve called for a car to come pick us up, they should be here fairly soon,” Lilia pulls out some files from her crocodile birkin bag. “I’m going to finish up some things at the desk. Stay here.”

It’d be an understatement to call the current situation awkward. Here Yuri is, finally alone with the mate of the alpha that triggered his heat, holding a bag with a sex toy in it. And as much as he’d like to avoid Katsudon for the rest of his life, he knows that it won’t do anything to fix this air between them. Normally Yuri would just make a jab at him, but he doesn’t think it’d work this time.

He doesn’t really know why, but he doesn’t want to let everything they’ve built up over the past year rot away. Maybe it’s pathetic of Yuri to admit, but he has some very fond memories of showing Yuuri around Saint Petersburg and laughing at his surprisingly funny jokes. He’s not too bad once he loosens up a bit. So, Yuri knows he has to be the one to make the first move, because Katsudon sure as hell won’t.

“So…” Yuri shifts from foot to foot. “What were you and the old lady talking about?”

Yuuri jumps at his voice, licking his baby pink lips nervously. “Oh, nothing much. She just wanted me to know that I’m free to stop by her studio or the Bolshoi anytime I want… she was very insistent, actually.”

Yuri snorts. Typical Lilia, trying to steal Katsudon from the rink. “Of course she is, she’s like a bird chasing after shiny things. I bet -”

“Listen… Yurio. If you’re wondering about the Viktor thing… I’m not mad. I mean, I get it, it’s just our nature,” Yuuri starts fiddling with his glasses, looking shyly away from Yuri. “We can’t control how we react. Also, he has really strong pheromones… _really_ strong pheromones. Sometimes I even  -”

“Ew,” Yuri gags, though it does nothing to stop the sensation of relief spreading through his body. “I don’t need to hear about your shitty sex life, Katsudon. I already saw way too much before we got into the car here.”

Yuuri just laughs in response. He always sounds slightly worried whenever he laughs, his soft voice edged with hesitation. He looks right into Yuri’s eyes, face set with sudden determination.

“You know, like I said earlier, there are lots of things that are really nice about being an omega, but you’re not wrong. There’s some really hard parts too. People don’t take you as seriously. They underestimate you. Don’t let that change you.”

Looking into the new hardness of Katsudon’s eyes, Yuri gets the feeling that he’s trying to tell him something very, very important. “I won’t,” he responds, standing up a bit straighter. He’s one of the best athletes in the world, god damn it.

He hears Lilia’s designer heels clicking towards them before he hears her voice. “Yuri, these are for you,” she presents to him a bag of pills and receipts before making her way out the door. “Let’s go, the car should be here.”

Yuuri offers him a smile, the same one that alphas are always gushing over on social media. “Also, I know this is all kind of sudden. If you need any pointers or advice, feel free to come to me. I’m not the most useful person, I know.”

Yuri smirks confidently, leaning in towards Katsudon. “As if I’d ever need to do that. So I get really horny once a year, that’s all. How hard can it be?”

_I’ll kick this whole presenting thing’s ass._

 

 

Okay, maybe he spoke too soon.

As a figure skater, Yuri knows of the power of fan culture on social media. He knows that it's important to stay connected to what the fans are saying, what they like and what they don’t.. Yuri has always been proud to boast about his ample social media following, getting a generous number of notes and likes from his 900k combined followers on various platforms.

But this - this is an _explosion._

Yuri’s permitted to hole up in his (now clean) room under the pretense of resting and packing for his flight back to Saint Petersburg. Thankfully, that means that he gets out of playing card games and watching TV with everyone else, _and_ he has some time to catch up on what he’s missed.

So, as soon as phone had charged enough, Yuri had turned on the screen display, only to be met with a barrage of color, text in different languages, little bubbles flying across his screen where his lock screen wallpaper should’ve been.

He's gained 1.5 million followers on Instagram, 700k on Twitter, and he's been tagged in about twelve different articles from major news sites about his presentation. Not even just trashy gossip sites, _actual reputable news sources_ were reporting about him. When Mila presented as a beta, all she got was a couple of measly lines in a newspaper and a few dozen tweets. Take _that_ , old hag.

He clicks on one of the links and reads the title. _“Figure Skater Yuri Plisetsky, dubbed the_ ’ _Russian Fairy_ ’ _presents as an omega”_.

Wow, has “ice tiger” really just died out? What a shame. He likes that name more.

He scans the article, which has a few pictures of him competing at Worlds, and it’s mostly information about his career history as a skater and some of his accomplishments. It also mentions his upcoming participation in the charity ice show that’ll be touring over the summer. Excellent promotion.

But after that, the article starts describing the current lineup of the show, which goes off onto a tangent about Viktor Nikiforov and how his eyes change color in the light, and Yuri has to resist the urge to vomit. It’s _his_ time to shine, damn it.

He decides to go open some of his text messages next, seeking some self-validation by reading some messages of concern. Sure enough, he has about twenty messages from fellow figure skaters that he’s competed against, even the ones he’s never really spoken to. All of them are sending messages of congratulations and asking about how he’s feeling.

Not a single one from Otabek. Not that he’s looking, anyway. Yuri begins chewing on his lip, drawing his knees closer to his chest. He sees Potya climbing onto his desk and tries to beckon her onto the bed with him, but she ignores him.

He’s probably just busy or something. Or maybe Yuri’s just overreacting, tons of people present every day, who cares if it’s your friend? When Otabek presented as an alpha he probably didn’t get this much attention, he was only like fourteen or something. He just doesn’t know that you’re supposed to make it a big deal. Yeah, that’s it.

He decides to open a message from Mila to distract himself.

 

**New Message(s) From: Old Hag (DO NOT RESPOND)**

_Wednesday, February 14_

you bastard

[ 9:28]

 

Yuri snorts before continuing to scroll down through the chatroom.

 

Oh yeah also don’t die of thirst lol

[11:32]

 U see what i did there ^

[11:32]

 

_Thursday, February 15_

Holy shit yuri you’re everywhere

[14:55]

 

Yuri feels a devilish smirk paint its way across his face.

 

_Sunday, February 18_

careful jealousy will make ur face wrinkles even worse ;*

_Sent [17:34]_

 

He moves onto Instagram next, where people are currently going wild in his comments section, some spamming ‘ _get some rest!’_ while others are saying things more like ‘ _t_ _hink of me during ur heat lol ;)_ ’. His DMs are loaded with thousands of unread messages, and he chances a click at one of the messages.

An alpha girl he's never seen before in his life but apparently goes to the same school as him has sent him nothing but ‘ _hey’_ and a picture that Yuri immediately deletes before looking too closely at it. He really doesn't need to see other people’s dicks, he’s seen far too much of his own over the past few days.

From what he can tell, most of the other messages are pretty much the same thing as above, and Yuri really wants to flop down onto his bed and scream into the sheets, but he _can’t_ because _everything smells so fucking bad now._

He thought that he had a pretty decent sense of smell before, but now if he even walks past Yakov in the hall, he can smell the worn leather and pine scent on the beta, in addition to the scents of who he had just been with and the last cigarette he smoked. Just like his grandfather, Yakov also likes to threaten his skaters that if they aren’t willing to take care of their bodies they should just leave. Yuri’s heard stories about Viktor getting suspended temporarily from practice after arriving reeking of smoke, years ago.

Damn hypocrites.

  
Yuri continues scrolling through all of his notifications, scanning over them without looking for anything in particular. All of a sudden, his breath hitches and he lurches forward. How had he missed this?

 

**New Message(s) From: Beka (ര̀ᴗര́)و ̑̑**

_Wednesday, February 14_

Thinking of you.

[00:38]

 

Yuri’s eyes lock onto the date. It’s not unlike Otabek to send this kind of message, but Yuri can’t help but wonder what if -

What if he’s not imagining it all? It’s not impossible for a nineteen year old to think of a sixteen going-on seventeen year old that way. It’s not an insurmountable age gap, and Yuri knows that he can keep up with Otabek just fine. Hell, he’s even _quicker_ than him sometimes.

And it's always at this point that Yuri remembers. It’d be perfect, if Otabek hadn’t already said that he wasn’t interested. Of course he isn't. 

Otabek Altin is the kind of alpha who saves abandoned kittens off the street, spills his heart and soul out to him at three am, drunk on ambition. Who listens patiently for Yuri to open up on his own, and doesn't treat him as if he's weak after he finds out about his mother. The kind of alpha who tells Yuri that, even though it makes absolutely no sense, he feels like he can tell Yuri anything and  he’d just _get_ it.

And, most of all, he is hopelessly, disgustingly out of Yuri’s league.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats if you got through that, I cringed so hard as I wrote this. I was not expecting to be writing even semi sexual content this early so JESUS. I wanted to write something that I'd personally like to read, but I'm still having trouble developing my style in this story. 
> 
> I really don't know where I'm going with this, but I wanted to explore this kind of ABO dynamic thing and how it shapes society further than just hot sex (although that’s also still pretty nice). This is going to be focused on Yuri's relationships with the other skaters, himself, and not just romance. I also really wanted to show Yuuri and Yuri's adorable relationship. Yuri’s still a minor right now, folks. 
> 
> I've had to take quite a few liberties with canon, as there's a lack of a lot of information about Yuri's life (there's only one season guys, come on), so if you have any questions please comment them. I have a pretty detailed headcanon verse for this ABO thing so if it's confusing I'm not surprised. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, I've started writing another chapter, maybe one day I'll finish it ;) ~


	2. Something Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re really something else, you know that?” Otabek had whispered, almost reverently. Their faces had been so close that Yuri wonders what could’ve happened, what could’ve happened if he had gone for it.
> 
> “You really think so?” He had asked, scared to speak above a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is not really proofread or anything, but I wanted to finally get it out to you guys :( sorry for the wait, I had a lot of exams.  
> Yuri has a lot to do in this chapter, so I recommend not reading it all at once, it's really long. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

 

“Yuratchka,” Nikolai calls. “Did you remember to pack your inhaler?”

Yuri rolls his eyes, continuing to stuff protein bars into his carry-on. “No, Deda, I _wanted_ to finally have a chance at dying from asphyxiation.”

Nikolai merely raises an unimpressed brow, leaning against Yuri’s bedroom doorway, and that alone is enough to have a bit of shame bloom deep in Yuri. “Yuratchka, don’t use that kind of attitude around me.”

It’s not the best of conditions for goodbyes, Yuri had had to take his suppressants for the very first time in his life that morning, which was enough to make him feel slightly nauseous, and everyone is waiting for him to finish packing his bags.

Yuri throws his hot pink duffle over his shoulder, making his way out towards the living room, where Yakov, Lilia and the World’s Worst Couple™  are waiting. God knows how they managed to get here so early. If Yuri were in their position, staying in a luxury suite at the Four Seasons, he’d be sleeping in for sure.

Lilia slides off her cat-eyed reading glasses and sets down a trashy paperback romance novel as soon as Yuri stomps into the room. His grandfather rolls in a gold-handled, leopard spotted suitcase in behind him (which Yuri had gotten for _free -_ thank god for sponsors).

“Good, you’re finally ready,” she rises from the couch. “There’s a car waiting outside. It’ll take some time to get to the airport if we can’t beat traffic.”

Yuri nods as he slips on his sneakers. As soon as he turns, he’s engulfed in a giant bear hug. The feeling of being held, warmth, and the musk of tobacco has Yuri melting into his grandfather.

“Yuratchka,” Deda whispers into his hair. “Take good care of yourself. Stay happy. Don’t forget to wear your hat when you go outside. Also, stop slacking on your homework.”

Yuri snorts, but feels his eyes water a bit. “I love you, Deda,” he whispers.

Potya refuses to move from her position on an arm of the couch (of course), so Yuri has to give a half-hearted goodbye on the way out the door, behind his entourage. She doesn’t acknowledge it. Ungrateful.

“I’ll see you in a few months, Yuratchka,” Kolya smiles sadly at him. It doesn’t get easier, every time he has to leave his grandfather. But that’s the price he has to pay for success. For his dream.

“See you,” Yuri says softly as the old wooden door is closed and clicked shut. He hopes it won’t be the last time that he sees the inside of the apartment, and the man who’s inhabited it for the past thirty years.

  
  


“So, what’s the plan?” Yuri plops down into his seat in the van, claiming one of the oh-so-desirable front seats. It’s quite comedic, having Viktor try to squeeze into the small row of seats at the very back of the car, but that’s just what Yuri calls ‘karma’.

“What do you mean?” Yakov sighs, struggling with his seatbelt. He’s been in an odd mood recently, prone to moping instead of his usual yelling.

Lilia’s being helped into the shotgun seat by the driver, even though she’s perfectly capable of opening the damn door by herself. As soon as the driver climbs enters the car, he gags and rolls down a window, his buggy eyes scanning his passengers and zeroing in on Yuri.

Wow, thanks. Nice to know he smells like shit. Or, as Viktor had pointed out last night, like an “over-aggressive dose of sugar glazed onto over citrus fruits”. He smells like a Turkish delight. Excellent.

“I _mean_ ,” Yuri says with more bite than before. “Practices for this damn show. When’s everyone else flying in? Where are we going? Am I still performing the routine Lilia choreographed or has the world ended?”

“Practices will commence officially next month, which is when everyone will be flying in. Our first show is in Saint Petersburg, and then to Moscow. I’ll have to check the rest of the cities after that, but the show begins accelerating in late spring, into summer,” Yakov rubs his temples. “Remind me that we have to go to your school to dismiss you for the last few months for the show.”

_Fuck yes._

“In the meantime, the skaters here that are performing will be practicing their programs. There’s a few others that may be joining us at the rink for… God knows what. It’s been postponed for a few days though, due to… unforeseen circumstances.”

“It’s not like you guys _had_ to fly into Moscow,” Yuri grumbles, pulling up his hood.

“We were worried about you, _kotyonok_. This is a very confusing time of life, and we wanted to offer our support.” Viktor tries to put a hand on Yuri’s shoulder, but he immediately pushes it off.

Yuri knows that Viktor is becoming increasingly interested in becoming a father, but he really does not need to be his lab rat. Also, he’s supposed to still be mad at Viktor until he apologizes for his stupidity and carelessness in sending his stupid letters.

Yuri spends the rest of the car ride fucking around on his phone, earphones in. He’s listening to the program music that Lilia had been insisting upon for his exhibition skate - some sonata by Beethoven - while he scrolls through a few fan accounts.

Once they reach the airport, however, it’s a different story entirely. The driver had been complaining about a sudden influx of traffic as they edged towards their entrance of the airport, and it’s now clear what’s causing said traffic: there are hoards of paparazzi gathered outside in puffy coats, holding their obnoxious cameras.

Yakov swears under his breath. “I thought that they wouldn’t be able to find us. I left a tip at the Izvestia headquarters that we’d be at the airport two days from today. ”

“Are we going to be able to get in through this entrance?” Yuuri asks, brow pinched.

“Redirect to the private entrance,” Lilia orders the driver. “Right now.”

The car has to duck through the crowds of people gathering in the streets, swerving back and forth to avoid crazed reporters and paparazzi. Unfortunately, due to the proximity of the paparazzi, it’s really not a surprise when they start shouting in excitement, having recognized Lilia.

Yuri prays to a higher being, if there even is one, that they’ll be able to make it into the airport without running over anyone. He doubts that it’ll happen, considering the way some of them are even jumping directly in front of the car’s path.

“Maybe we should just get out here… I don’t think we can move.” Katsudon starts unbuckling his seatbelt, and Viktor follows suit.

As soon as the driver hops out to grab some of their suitcases (most of which are, of course, Viktor’s), about five different reporters start screeching at them as they shuffle closer to the car.

“Yuri,” Yakov growls at him, preparing to slide open the van door. “Whatever you do, don’t stop walking. Keep your head down, don’t respond to any of them.”

  
Yuri nods affirmatively, pulling his hood over his head. He grabs his carry-on and prepares to shoot out the door once Yakov opens it, unprepared for the resulting chaos.

And _boy_ is it chaos. He barely has time to stumble out the van and plant his feet onto the pavement before he’s blinded by the flashes of cameras, all clicking in quick succession. Someone wraps his hand around the handle of his suitcase and pushes him forward, into the crowd. He can’t see anything, oh my god, he can’t brea -

“Yuri Nikolaevich, are you surprised you’re an omega?” One voice calls.

“Would you be interested in dating a beta female?” Another one screeches at him.

“Viktor, have you finalized wedding dates?”

“Are you and Otabek Altin an item now?” He feels hands reaching out to brush his arms, trying to grab at his hoodie.

“ _Back off!”_ Yakov continues to pull him along, closer and closer to large glass doors. Fewer reporters are stationed inside the airport itself, so the group is able to make their way towards a desk with a bunch of disturbed-looking workers behind it.

“Handle this situation,” Yakov growls at them simply before directing everyone through a series of hallways, avoiding bustling spectators. His scent is intense and a bit smokey with anger, and everyone seems a bit uneasy except for Lilia, who looks as indifferent as usual. Actually, Viktor is also unfazed too. He’s probably very used to Yakov being furious around him.

Apparently Yakov’s quite familiar with the workings of the Moscow airport and how to reach the VIP wing himself, but that’s to be expected from the former ice superstar of the Soviet Union. Yuri’s seen pictures. He had a thing for particularly sparkly costumes and a head full of thick, brown hair. Viktor would be envious.

The discrete terminal is completely empty, so they check in and make their way through the non-existent security line with excellent speed. A couple of the officers’ smiles falter when he comes close, and they duck their heads and look away while managing his bags.

The trend continues as people in the VIP lounge visibly stumble before pausing when Yuri walks into the room before snapping their heads away. Jesus. The five of them settle in a booth towards the side of the large room, seats covered in grey velvet. There’s a large chandelier in the center of the carpeted room, right where a large assortment of fruits, porridges, pastries are more are laid out. 

“Don’t look so down - your scent is just very strong, _kotyonok_ ,” Viktor says with far more cheer than appropriate for the morning, setting a hand on his shoulder. Yuri scowls as he elbows him in response.

“Yeah, whose fault is that?” He mutters, sinking down in his seat. He’s not really in the mood to interact with people, not so soon after the disaster with the press. He’s never experienced anything like that before. Did that many people only start caring about him because he’s an omega now?

Viktor tilts his head at him confusedly, blue eyes as big and shiny as ever. He looks like a perplexed puppy. “What do you mean, Yurio?”

Yuri’s jaw drops. Yakov immediately chokes on on his water and ceases reading emails on his phone, Katsudon wiggles out of Viktor’s tight hold around him to look at his alpha weirdly.

He can’t be serious… can he? Every moment on his “Dumbest Things Viktor Has Ever Done” List has just been knocked down a spot, because this takes the fucking cake with a cherry on top.

“I’m going to go get some breakfast,” Lilia announces, unaffected by the scene unfolding in front of her. She gracefully slides out the side of the booth and makes her way to the center of the room.

“Great idea!” Viktor doesn’t seem to be in the mood to ponder over people’s reactions to his idiocy. “Yurio, can you slide out? I need to go get breakfast, if you don’t mind.”

Yuri only feels numbness as his body moves on autopilot, sliding out of his seat so Viktor ‘I’m a forgetful person’ Nikiforov can cheerfully jaunt past him to serve himself breakfast pastries. Soon after, Yakov gets up as well.

It’s a while before Yuri points to Katsudon and says, “Your mate is a _fucking idiot._ ”

“Yeah, I’m honestly not going to deny that,” Yuuri winces and buries his face into the scarf he’s wearing. Hey, isn’t that Viktor’s scarf?

Yuri grumbles and slides down the cushions, right next to Katsudon. He smells nicer than usual, his crisp apple scent loaded with more sweetness and a hint of spice. Of course, there’s some of Viktor’s scent there too, because they’re mates, but Yuri would prefer to ignore that in his sensitive post-heat stage.

“I’m so done with all of this stupid paparazzi shit. It’s tiring,” Yuri sighs, propping his feet up on the seats opposite the two of them.

Yuuri chuckles softly in response. “Tell me about it. I thought Viktor was mostly a popular figure in the athletic world. Until I moved here, I didn’t know that he was _everyone’s_ first love. I’ve never been photographed so much as when news got out about our engagement.”

Yuri knows how much Katsudon suffered at the hands of the media when he first came to Saint Petersburg. “By the way, when’s the wedding? I need to know so I can clear my schedule to prepare. I’m popular, you know.”

Katsudon turns to him, eyes twinkling. “Who said you’re invited?”

Yuri glares at him as his grin widens. “Oh, alright. We’ve been talking more about it, and we’re still not sure because it’d have to be after my last season, but I think we’re going for a spring wedding….” He trails off unexpectedly, eyes fixed on something in the distance.

Yuri twists his body around to see what has his attention. There’s Viktor, sipping at a coffee casually and laughing. He’s standing with a very pretty, slender man with a golden complexion and light brown hair. They seem to be deep in conversation, as if they’ve met before. Yuri swivels back around, about to ask who that is before he sees Katsudon’s face.

His shiny eyes are wide open and lost-looking, scanning the two of them up and down frantically. Yuri can see the way he’s tensed up ever-so slightly, even though he doesn’t want to be. His mind’s probably going a mile a minute, because there’s clearly something that Yuri doesn’t know about going on (as usual).

“Hey,” he says to shift Yuuri’s attention. “Deda told me to tell you that he really enjoyed having you over.” It’s a lame diversion, but it’ll have to do.

“I like your grandfather,” Yuuri snaps out of whatever funk he was in, smiling. “He’s very kind. What did he used to do for a living?”

“Oh, Deda?” Yuri picks at his fingernails. “He was a spy for the KGB.”

Katsudon gapes at him. “Oh. That explains a lot, I guess.”

Viktor is busy talking to someone new near the chocolate fountain now, some sort of actress that Yuri vaguely recognizes (though Viktor obviously doesn’t). He supposes she’s a fan of Viktor’s, judging by the enthusiasm in her voice. Disgusting.

“Go get some food, you too.” Yakov returns with his plate loaded with multiple pain au chocolats. Sweet tooth. “You need to fuel your bodies.”

The two of them make their way towards the buffett, where Yuri is able to collect an apple and strawberries, some yogurt, a bowl of porridge and a hot chocolate. Everyone steers clear of him as soon as he gets close to them, but Yuri supposes that works to his advantage at a buffet. More for him.

Viktor and Katsudon have returned by the time Yuri makes his way back to the booth, and Viktor has his arms wrapped around him, squeezing Katsudon’s hand every so often. They seem to be discussing something serious, so Yuri stalls for a while before he approaches.

“Oi,” he says, interrupting their kiss. “People need to eat here. Stop being so gross.”

The two of them give half-hearted apologies, but they seem to be in a good mood together, so Yuri guesses it’s alright. All five of the people sitting at the booth eat in silence for a while before grabbing their bags and making their way out to the private boarding gate.

Strangely enough, there’s a series of designer shops and storefronts around the VIP gate, which has Viktor’s eyes lighting up in excitement. They walk until they reach a smaller room with a few comfortable reclining leather seats, and by then, there’s nothing to do but wait.

“By the way, where’s the mutt?” Yuri asks.

“Oh, we left him with Georgi for a couple of days,” Viktor replies cheerfully, flipping through a Duty Free catalog (where did he even get it?). “Yuuri, what do you think about this necklace?”

That ancient dog eats better than Yuri does on most days. He’s confident the mutt won’t have any trouble being spoiled by Georgi, now happily retired and living with his wife, Valeria.

While Viktor gets up to go look around the terminal (cough, spend thousands of rubles in the span of forty minutes), everyone else seems to take advantage of the spare time and relax. While Katsudon closes his eyes and tries to sleep, Yakov checks emails and Lilia pulls her reading glasses and book out again. Yuri pulls his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants and checks his notifications.

 

**New Message(s) From: Beka (ര̀ᴗര́)و ̑̑**

_Hey_

_[8:23]_

 

_How is everything?_

_[8:23]_

 

Yuri gulps. Why is he messaging him now? What is he supposed to respond? Should he give a full-blown explanation of everything he’d said and done during his heat? Nope, that’s definitely not an option.

 

_just tired_

_Sent  [9:04]_

 

Yuri pockets his phone again, leaning back and staring at the lattice of metal beams and glass of the ceiling. He feels trapped in his own skin, distantly uncomfortable with his own body and how everything’s changed. Once the ceiling becomes little more than a blur, he shuts his eyes. He doesn’t know how much time passes like this, with him just staring at the ceiling, but he’s brought out of his trance by the sound of an argument.

“Vitya, return it, now!”

“But _Yuuri_ , it’s practically time to board! I can’t just be irresponsible and let everyone wait for me while I run all the way back to the store.”

Yuri sits up groggily only to be met with an army of shopping bags, all radiating from Viktors body. He’s holding a delicate red satin cocktail dress up to Yuuri, who’s flushed and frantic.  

Yuuri lowers his voice, embarrassed. “It probably costs a fortune! I can’t pay that much for a dress that probably won’t fit.”

Viktor deflates like a popped balloon. “I wanted to do something nice for you because I love you. I thought of you as soon as I saw it, you’d look so stunning in it. Besides, it _barely_ cost anything.”

A grown-ass man. Sulking.

“Jesus,” Yuri cuts in. “Is this really what mated life is like? Arguing about a dress?”

Viktor and Katsudon’s mouths drop, both scrambling for the right excuses. “Anyway,” Yuri interrupts before they can find anything to say. “The geezer can’t return the damn dress now, it’s practically already time to board. Suck it up and wear the dress for him, Katsudon. He obviously thought it was hot. Viktor, stop being such a damn idiot and don’t buy shit before asking your fiancé. Just because you’re not worried about going broke in a year doesn’t mean he’s not.”

“Yuri Plisetsky, watch your tone,” Lilia says sharply, tucking her book into her purse. “We have to board now, come on.”

The three of them quickly adjust their bags and make their way onto the plane, shuffling into the first-class section of the plane. Well, he has to hand it to Yakov. He’s quite generous with buying plane tickets. Although, Yuri reasons, as he makes himself comfortable in the cushioned seat, Russia must’ve offered to accommodate their representatives in any way possible.

“You told me we’d be travelling in economy,” Yuuri whispers to Viktor once the flight attendants are out of ear’s reach. Yuri knows Katsudon’s still adjusting to living as Viktor Nikiforov’s other half - meaning, surrounded by constant luxury with people kissing his ass 24/7.

Yuri doesn’t know quite what Viktor’s father did for a living, but he knows he has enough family money to live comfortably if he manages to blow through all of his skating money - unlikely, considering the number of sponsors and contracts he has.

That rich bitch. He doesn’t deserve Katsudon.

He hears the noise of passengers boarding through the entrance behind them, chattering amongst themselves. Yuri figures it’ll be some time before they really get going on their way to Saint Petersburg, so he opens his phone again to do one of his favorite pastime: stalking people on social media.

Embarrassing as it seems, Yuri has a fake skating fan account that enables him to get access to the latest rumors, memes, and fanwars. _Oh yes,_ the fanwars. He feels a sick sense of satisfaction whenever he makes posts about Viktor’s sixhead or JJ’s tramp stamp, only to be met with hoards of his fans filling his notifications with angry emojis.

Yuri’s not threatened by them, mainly because he refuses to be insulted by anyone delusional enough to think they’re going to marry Viktor or JJ. Those are the types of fans that adamantly deny Katsudon’s and Isabella’s existences, and that alone is enough to tell Yuri what kind of person they are.

One time he had tried fueling hate against himself, when he had felt particularly pathetic and in need of reassurance, but that had only ended up backfiring on him when lots more people responded with laughing emojis than before. Those bitches.

Yuri scrolls through Twitter, pausing on one of the Angel accounts he follows. The post is rapidly trending, increasing in retweets exponentially. _“Want to know more about our fairy, Yuri Plisetsky? Here’s a thread of facts!”_

  * He was born Yuri Nikolaevich Plisetsky on March 1, 2001, in Moscow, Russia.


  * He started skating at age five after his grandfather took him ice skating and he was scouted by coaches. He quickly became one of the top young skaters, advancing through former skating legend Yakov Feltsman’s classes rapidly.


  * He is known for his flexibility, speed, and precision on the ice. He is also very good at doing jumps with high difficulty.


  * He debuted officially at Skate Canada 2016, winning silver. He’d later win gold at his very first Grand Prix Final (so proud!!!)



Also his only Grand Prix gold so far. Fuck you, Katsudon.

  * He was raised by his grandfather, Kolya. It is unknown about his relationship with his mother.


  * Not confirmed, but some Russian Angels informed the International Angels that his mother was allegedly a showgirl, so that’s where Yuri gets his amazing performance quality from!



Yuri swallows, clenches his jaw.

  * He is close friends with Otabek Altin, Mila Babicheva, and Viktuuri, all figure skaters.



Yuri snorts at that one.

  * There is speculation that he might be dating Otabek!!!! (Otayuri forever!)



Yuri pauses at that. _Otayuri?_ What the fuck is that? He quickly types it in the search bar and is met with numerous gifs and posts about himself and Otabek.

 _‘They’re totally dating’_  a tweet reads. ‘Even _if otabek wasn’t interested in Yuri before he’ll definitely be now’_

_‘Remember that day when the two of them toured around Saint Petersburg together a few months ago?? TOTALLY A DATE’_

Yuri remembers that day. Yeah, he’d actually lowkey thought it was a date too. The two of them had gone around the city on the back of Beka’s motorcycle, trying all of the best foods and laughing at each other. It was one of the best days of his life, until _that_ interview later crushed his hopes and dreams. When questioned by the reporter if he’d think about dating someone a few years younger, he’d straight up said “no”.

No room for interpretation on that one, Yuri supposes. He’d tried not to cry too much into his pillow. He’d failed.

 _‘Who_ _tf is this otabek guy who do i need to fight’_ a recent tweet reads. Yuri snorts as he clicks on the profile. It’s an alpha from the United States, probably one of his more recent fans. Yep, definitely a new fan. All of his liked tweets are of Yuri, and his presentation.

It’s not like Yuri is adverse to the attention. Actually, as much as he hates to admit it, it’s kind of satisfying to be trending on Twitter and have so many followers that are attracted to him. He just hopes that they’ll stick around for his skating, not because he gets wet.  

Yuri guesses he’ll just have to work extra hard to wow his larger audience the next time he performs on the ice. And also figure out how to make Lilia’s program less boring. And also find a way to get used to his own damn body again.

Jesus. He’ll sleep on it during the plane ride.  

 

A few hours later, Yuri still has no master plan for rocking his extended fame. He probably should’ve kept his damn mouth shut when Katsudon was offering help.

Well, he guesses he might as well try to be Yuuri Katsuki.

A small-town beauty with the face of an angel and a body made for sin, it’s no wonder he had already cultivated a loyal, albeit small following of lovesick alphas before the whole Grand Prix Final thing happened. As for _after_ the final -

He exploded. People who didn’t give a _damn_ about the world of figure skating sure as hell did now. A huge number of sponsorships, the face of every sports drink, Katsudon’s designer-sweatpants clad ass can be seen in literally every metro station. Yuri’s found many an alpha drooling over the advertisements, and lining up to take photographs with Katsudon standees.

How disappointed, Yuri wonders, were they to find that their ideal omega was already engaged to someone they could never compete with?

Everyone had wanted to know everything there was to know about the pretty Japanese boy with the legendary Viktor Nikiforov as his coach. Then came the speculation about their relationship extending beyond professional borders, and then once they snogged on the ice and the rings came out, it got to the point where Yuri actually started feeling _bad_. Lots of press meant lots of interest, but also a lot of jealous fanboys and fangirls.

Branded by mainstream media as the skating world’s ‘sweetheart’ and an alpha dick magnet. Well. Yuri guesses that’s what’s in store for him now, until someone lets him slather himself in industrial-grade scent blockers.

So how does he emulate Yuuri Katsuki? He glances at said man.

Viktor’s trying to spoon-feed him schi. _Spoon-feed._ Like a _baby_. And Yuri would pity Katsudon for having to deal with Viktor wailing about how he should rest after his heat, except for the fact that Yuuri’s blushing and his eyes are all big and sparkly.

Pro tip: make sure that whenever an alpha talks to you, you make your eyes all big and fluttery and sparkly.

They’d landed in Saint Petersburg an hour ago, and had to escape from the paparazzi _again_ (they’d spent a half hour trying to physically pull Viktor away from the cameras). The five of them are sitting around a round table at a casual family-owned restaurant, known more for their good food than flashy interior. They’re huddled around a group of five radiators, spooning soup and fish into their mouth rapidly.

“Yuri, we need to discuss your sponsorship deals. Adidas wants to extend their contract for two more years, plus a paid campaign and photo shoot. Also, you have more companies messaging you, requesting meetings,” Lilia rattles off her mobile phone.

Yuri grunts in response, continuing to shovel food into his mouth. The pills are probably doing something to his body, making him hungrier than ever before. The doctor had left him a note, saying that he needed to expect ‘lots of body changes’ in the next few weeks.

One of the waitresses, probably the granddaughter of the owners, keeps on giggling and smiling when she comes to drop off a dish. Probably a fan or something, most likely Viktor’s. This is confirmed when she shyly comes over and asks for a picture with him. Something else consumes Viktor immediately, leaving a suave and charming gentleman where there was only a forgetful idiot. Viktor Nikiforov, in the eyes of the world, is cool and composed, untouchable.

“Of course,” he says smoothly, a practiced smile spreading across his face. It’s his Fan Smile™.  He rises from his chair and makes his way towards the waitress.

“I can take the picture for you -” Katsudon tries to hold out his hand for her mobile phone, but the girl quickly interjects.

“A-actually I was going to ask if you could be in it too… I’m a really big fan of the two of you,” she gushes quickly.

It’s always a relief for Viktor and Katsudon to meet with fans that aren’t jealous. Most of them are highly supportive of their relationship ( _very highly_ ), but the few bad encounters that both Viktor and Yuuri have had have left them a bit cautious. Yuuri’s used to stepping aside for Viktor whenever a fan is involved.

Yuri rolls his eyes and slides out of his seat. “Well, I guess _I_ have to do it then. Jesus, you guys ask for so much.”

“No one -” Katsudon starts but Yuri silences him with a look. He accepts the squealing waitress’ phone and obediently snaps a few photos of the three of them, Viktor smiling subtly while Katsudon just looks a bit flustered. The girl looks like she’s about to have a heart attack.

“After this we’ll have the check,” Yakov tells the waitress curtly as soon as she’s done checking the photos, giggling at each and every one

“Of course!” She responds giddily, running back to the kitchen.

Once the bill is paid (everyone had offered to chip in except for Yuri), the group pulls their coats on as Viktor examines the receipt carefully, startling everyone when he bursts out laughing.

“Yurio, she left her phone number for you!”

“What?” Yuri squawks, grabbing the piece of paper from his hand. Sure enough, on the back of the receipt, there’s a small line of digits with the note ‘ _For Yuri P. ~_ ’ attached to it.

Jesus Christ.

Katsudon and VIktor seem to find this to be the funniest thing to ever happen, laughing about it even as Yakov and Lilia say goodbye to them as they get into their car, even for the entirety of the cab ride back home to their neighborhood. Yuri moved out of Lilia’s stuffy mansion a few months ago, and has worked out an arrangement with Yakov and his grandfather to be renting an apartment a couple blocks away from the rink. Of course, the condition for him living alone was that he live close to Viktor and Yuuri so they could check on him frequently.

Naturally, they live a couple of buildings down, in a much nicer apartment complex. In the penthouse. With a sauna. Yuri hates feeling a sense of inadequacy whenever he visits, but he’s willing to sacrifice his pride to stop by at dinnertime for Yuuri’s glorious cooking.

Yuri finally manages to rid himself of the pair after they’re reached their destination, after making promises that _yes_ , he’d check in with them after he got into the apartment, _of course_ he’d come over for dinner some time that week. He groans as he fiddles with his keyring, eventually managing to pull open his door and enter his small apartment.

The living room is petite but mostly neat, as Yuri rarely entertains company in it. There’s a kitchenette stocked with enough appliances that Yuri can comfortably experiment with cooking in it, along with a small circular dining table. However, Yuri drags his bags towards a door on the far end of the living room, where his room is.

Inside, there’s a decent sized desk for Yuri to (not) do his schoolwork, a cabinet with his trophies on it, and a queen sized bed with a grey bedspread. Yuri immediately flops down onto it, groaning. He’s exhausted from hours of travel, and his body is still sore and aching from the post-heat stage. As soon as he’s half asleep, though, he receives a buzz from his phone.

**New Message(s) From: NikiFiveHead**

 

_If you need anything, then just text me or yuuri ! ٩(♡ε♡ )۶_

_[14:42]_

 

Yuri rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll through his messages, eventually opening his conversation with Otabek. The most recent message is still from Yuri, sent that very morning in the Moscow airport. However, there’s one miniscule change.

Yuri frowns at the ‘read’ receipt from the bottom of the chat room. It’s not like Otabek’s never left him on read before, they’re both busy after all, but for some reason this infuriates him in a way he can’t explain, tightly coiled ropes of hot annoyance jumping up and down his joints. But it’s been hours, and it’s an afternoon - how busy can Otabek be? He groans, frustrated, before tossing his phone onto the armchair next to his bed.

He manages to drift off to sleep eventually, hoping that tomorrow will be less tiring than today.

Unfortunately, the next month leading up to the tour is a mess of its own. Yuri feels like he could start an entire exhibition project for the various odd experiences he’s collecting - but here, see it for yourself:

 

**Exhibit A**

 

The rink that the Russian team uses for practice is located along the waterfront and opens just after nine in the morning, a perfect time for skaters to get their training started for the day. It’s more relaxed than it was just a few weeks ago, with the competitive season losing intensity, but there’s never a true day of rest for a professional athlete. At least, that’s what Yuri thinks is a perfectly good reason for him to be making his way towards the Yubileyny Sports Palace.

Yakov had argued with him, saying that Yuri needed to wait until his scent had relaxed a bit before returning to practices, but when has Yuri ever done anything Yakov wants?

Ordinarily he’d walk there, but since he’s feeling especially permissive today, he decides to say ‘screw it’ and take the bus instead. He’s dressed in some sweats, equipment bag and gear slung over his shoulder, waiting for the bus to reach his stop. Once the white and blue bus pulls to a stop in front of him, he lazily boards it, depositing some change into the payment box.

The effects are instantaneous. Some of the passengers recognize him, some don’t, but their eyes lock onto him before flitting away a split second later. The air in the bus has turned stale and awkward, and Yuri doesn’t know what to make of it. Is there something with what he’s wearing? Did he do something wrong?

He steps over few people’s backpacks and makes to grab onto a pole towards the front of the bus. Along the way, a couple of women move their bags in and scoot towards the window, making extra space. A young omega woman smiles sweetly at him, moving her purse from a seat into her lap. As soon as he reaches the post, he hears a voice coming from his right.

There’s a man with a five o’clock shadow, wearing a shabby second-hand suit. Beta. “W-would you like my seat?” His eyes are wide and his hands are fidgety, as if he’s uncertain about whether he should be speaking to Yuri.

“Oh, I -” Yuri stammers. He’s not used to having people offer to give up seats for him - he’s usually the one who has to offer to give it up for old people. Scratch that, he never does that anyway. “I can stand. It’s fine. Whatever.”

“Are you sure, dear?” Someone else croaks. It’s an old lady wearing obnoxious teal earrings and cherry-red lipstick, sitting in the seat behind the man. “You should rest. Your poor feet might get tired.”

As if. He’s not a figure skater for nothing. “Really, it’s not a pro -”

“She’s right. Omegas shouldn’t have to put unnecessary strain on their bodies, especially the fresh ones,” a young man a few rows back speaks up earnestly.

Soon enough, more and more people chime in, offering their seats to Yuri, over and over until he’s convinced that they’re just competing to see who gets the satisfaction of having an omega choose them. Finally, he just collapses in an empty seat next to the girl omega with the purse and the bus quiets at last, albeit reluctantly.

When he sighs in relief and turns towards her, a sympathetic smiles spreads across glossy pink lips,  pity dripping from her honey-colored eyes.

“Is this really it?” He whispers to her.

She only nods her head once before turning away, fiddling with the handle of her pink bag.

 

**Exhibit B**

 

The concept for his exhibition skate is to show a twisted, vulnerable sort of longing, lacing heartbreaking beauty into his movements and spins. Ever since he debuted, critics have called him the “monster rookie”, managing to get devastatingly high scores with difficult routines. “Monstrous beauty”, they say. “An unfathomable quality in his art”, they say.

It’s not like he doesn’t work _damn_ hard at what he does. He wouldn’t be where he is today, not at age sixteen, if he didn’t know the value of passion for your own trade, and the importance of professionalism. But honestly, this whole show was created under the guise of some sort of awareness for a disease that had recently taken the life of a very generous (rich) benefactor for the ISU.

Yuri had insisted that he be allowed to choreograph his own exhibition skate - he’s done it before (in less than twelve hours), he’s perfectly capable of making something new. However, Yakov and Lilia share the same opinions on a lot of stuff, despite being divorced, although they’ll never admit it. So now he has another very balletic program, sure to be a hit among the old rich people, probably not as much with the younger fans. Lilia stressed the importance of making his own movements captivating enough without the added stunts and jumps in order to achieve “growth” as a skater.

He swears that when he wakes up in the morning, the first thing he hears in his mind is “ _Extension!”_

So if he happens to be messing around with Mila on the sides of the rink instead of dutifully practicing the program, sue him. It’s almost time for them to leave and get lunch anyway. Yuri’s already gone through the whole story of his presentation (sans the parts where he fantasized about Otabek knotting him) and just finished recounting his adventures on public transportation.

“Damn,” Mila whistles lowly. She leans back against the edge of the rink, her black crop top riding higher up her abdomen. “Sounds complicated, glad I’m not you. Being a beta’s boring as fuck but people, but at least people aren’t as annoying to you.”

“Yeah,” Yuri mumbles in agreement. He’s not quite sure what to make of it, still. He thought that bitching about it for laughs to Mila would make him feel less awkward about it, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

“Not gonna lie, I’m kinda surprised you _really_ turned out to be an omega,” Mila hums thoughtfully. The air seems to shift from there.

“What do you mean?” Yuri straightens, asking sharply. He knows that it’s humiliating to not know what you were born to present as, unconventional. He’s lived his whole life parading as a future beta, trying very hard to push down any suspicions of anything else.

But then why have so many people made remarks like that? Ones that implied that maybe some people thought he was going to be an omega all along?

“There were, um… a few bets among the skaters. Said they got a vibe from your looks and stuff. Not a big deal. Besides,” she says, trying to lighten her voice. “Aren’t omegas supposed to be super pretty and nice? Like Yuuri? Nothing like you.”

She’s trying to distract him from the part about skaters’ speculation on his presentation, but he lets it slide. “Bitch,” he mutters half-heartedly.

Mila laughs. “I really should start bringing you to college parties, you’re probably dick magnet or something. I’ll use you to lure people in but once they see your bad personality they’ll come to me instead.”

Yuri rolls his eyes. “Good luck, nothing will make them interested in you.”

Yuri doesn’t know when it started, but he and Mila have something of an arrangement. Whenever she goes partying at a time that Yakov is really intense about ‘focusing only on skating’, Yuri covers for her the next morning at practice. All of her friends are in university, and she has a social life, so who could blame her for wanting to go out sometimes? could Yuri covers for her when she goes out partying.

“No but really,” Mila pauses to look him in the eye. “How is stuff?”

Their conversation hits a pause. That’s not good for either of them. Their relationship is built on lighthearted laughs and heinous insults, not deep emotional support.

“I mean, it’s not all bad,” Yuri shrugs. “Locker room smells better. I just wish you weren’t there to dirty it with your presence.”

Mila pinches him. Hard.  “Speak for yourself. You smell like citrus soda and sex hormones and it’s leaving everyone with either a headache or a boner. Hey, I’ll tell you what - I bet you I couldn’t find anyone in this whole rink who doesn’t fall into one category or the other.”

Yuri scoffs. “No. Fuck off.”

Mila leans forward, arches her brow teasingly. “Why? Are you scared?”

Shit. That always works on Yuri. “Alright, it’s a fucking bet, hag.”

An evil smile spreads across Mila’s full lips, blue eyes alight with mischief. She hums to herself as she scans the rink. Viktor and Katsudon are currently giggling, holding onto each other’s arms as they make rounds around the rink. They’re working on some sort of pair skate thing again, and Yuri knows that it’ll be obnoxious, so people will love it.

“Hey, look over there. They’re totally staring at you,” Mila jerks her head towards the locker rooms.

 _‘They’re’_ refers to the hockey team practices here sometimes. While figure skating is divided by gender, hockey (like most other sports) is divided by dynamic - meaning only alphas and male betas can be on the team. Hulking assholes, all of them smelly and sweaty and, for the most part, fucking judgmental. If Yuri had a ruble for every time one of them came up to him and made fun of his sport, he could probably afford the medical bill he’d need to pay (for himself) if he ever got the guts to confront them.

“Of course they are, _Lyudmila Ivanova._ Didn’t you used to date one of them?” Yuri scoffs. He remembers that asshole too well. He forgot what his name was, but he ended up cheating on her. Yuri doesn’t know the details, but that’s all he really needs to know.

Mila’s eyes narrow, scanning the faces of all of the players. Most of them are in their twenties, but a few younger prospective players are among the ranks. All of a sudden, a shit-eating grin spreads across her face. Hold on, is she going to -

Yuri’s fucked.

“Hey,” she yells at them, quickly gliding across the ice towards them. “You guys!”

Yuri swears rapidly under his breath. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he whispers. Mila’s already reached them, though, and is chatting away. She must just _love_ having all of this attention on her, every single one of the hockey players had frozen as soon as she approached. Yuri sees her point to him, and he immediately snaps his rapidly heating face away from the group.

A few eternities later, Mila skates back to him, a smug smile on her face. Yuri doesn’t even want to know what their responses were to warrant such satisfaction.

“You’re a hit,” she cackles gleefully, winking at him.

“Whatever,” he growls to her and tries to get out of the damn rink as fast as he can. But then the unthinkable happens: He stumbles. Ever so slightly, but to a trained eye, it’s glaringly obvious.

Yuri feels his face heat up even more because why did that have to happen _now,_ with all of the stupid hockey players’  attention on him and his stupid ass omega scent? He reaches the end of the rink and tries to hastily pull on his skate guards so he can stomp towards the bleacher.  

Too bad that that means he has to walk directly towards those smug bastards in their lumpy practice gear, dressed in skin tight leggings and a thin shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the way his nipples are standing from the cold.

As soon as he gets closer, a lot of the players stand up or try to lie down the bleachers, all posing nonchalantly. They look absolutely ridiculous. A huge cloud of pheromones wafts into Yuri’s face as he approaches his bag, and Yuri almost chokes from the intensity. Jesus. He’s not going to lie, it smells kinda nice, but they’re still scumbags.

Wait, are they _posturing_ for him?

“So,” one of them says, drawing out the word. “I saw you, uh, had a little moment there towards the end. It’s okay, babe, we all stumble at first. You wanna practice with me? I can hold your hand or something.”

“No.” Yuri glares at her as he pulls his left skate off. She had been a lot more attractive before she’d opened her mouth. Of course, Yuri’s seen far more attractive people, like Otabek. Next to him, one of them is flexing his arm muscles while aggressively running his hands through his hair, over and over.

Normally he’d be getting a snide comment from one of them and he’d flip them off in response. It’s kind of ridiculous, seeing how their attitudes have changed so much. Ridiculous and disappointing.

“I’m just saying… we should hang out sometime,” the player whines, winking at him.

Another voice cackles. “Tatya, you bite it on the ice every other day. Also, I doubt you could afford anything good to eat for him. If anyone could keep up with this one it’d be _me._ ”

Tatya’s head aggressively snaps to the direction of the voice. “You wouldn’t be able to hold onto him for a week.”

Yuri forcefully shoves his remaining equipment into his bag and stomps towards the locker room, blinking away tears of frustration. Behind him, twenty hockey players exchange confused glances, as if to ask what they did wrong.

“I mean - we also love your mind… and stuff! But I really love the way your eyes sparkle on the ice, like lovely emeralds, thrust from the depths of -”

“ _Shut up, Boris_.”

 

**Exhibit C**

 

Time passes. Life goes on, Yuri perfects his program (colloquially speaking, of course - no one can truly perfect anything in skating). He gets to go on scent dampeners, thank God. On the day he turns seventeen, he wakes to a collection of packages from fans outside his door, clothes from luxury brands, a few more skate guards and athletic gear from various companies. What he does not get, however, is anything more than a halfhearted message from his best friend. In fact, the title of ‘best friend’ seems to be eroding away, day by day, as Otabek tests Yuri’s patience.

He and Otabek still talk, but it just seems _off_ , something irregular in the cadence of his phrases in a way he can’t explain. He’ll send Otabek a dumb meme about skating or a popular TV show and he’ll send back ‘lol’ and not much after that. They both continue to stay active on Instagram, with Otabek uploading pictures of Almaty, his rink, some instruments he’s fiddling with. On Yuri’s explore page, he sees Otabek has liked a lot of recent pictures of him  by Angels, but refuses to talk to the real thing.

It’d be a stretch to say that Otabek is neglecting him. Technically, nothing too drastic has changed, and they both get busy sometimes, but Yuri’s never felt this way before about the two of them. Or, at least, even when Yuri’s felt like he was being left behind  Otabek, it was more due to his own feelings than Beka treating him with disrespect or distance. Even when Yuri had gone through a period of time when he felt sick to his stomach even thinking about his unrequited love, Otabek had been understanding, kind, and a constant contact on his phone.

Of course, that’s probably because he hadn’t known about Yuri’s crush either. No matter how much Yuri likes to act bold or make innuendos in front of him, Otabek never shows any signs of taking the bait. Of course not. Otabek is a man. Yuri’s just an over-emotional teenager.

But nothing weird has happened between them recently...  right? Did Yuri accidentally write something too bold to him? The possibility that Otabek’s finally found out the only secret Yuri’s never told him both thrills him and makes him feel sick to his core.

But mostly, this whole situation makes him feel frustrated beyond belief. It’s even worse because he can’t find anyone to pin the blame on yet.

So if Yuri walks into his high school in a bad mood, freshly seventeen years old, it’s nobody’s business. As he passes through the doom-infested hallways, he sees unfamiliar faces pointing at him and whispering to their friends, who eagerly twist their heads to catch a glimpse of him. Or maybe it’s Yakov, dressed haphazardly in a giant fuzzy brown coat and a fedora.

At least Yuri’s dressed for the occasion, in a black hoodie with black jeans and a huge black coat on top. He’s probably going to get in trouble for not wearing his school uniform, but he can always just claim that he was just waiting to receive his omega uniform. He’s not excited by the prospect of skirts, but only because he doesn’t want anyone to force him into them. On his own time, though, that’s a different matter.  He thinks he has excellent legs for them.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” Yakov grumbles. He’s still half-asleep, unused to the wakeup time of the average teenager on weekdays. “I’m going to visit the office of Dr. Smirnov to arrange the scheduling of the next few months. Don’t try to get out of classes. Study hard. I expect you to attend the whole day, even after I’ve left.”

Yuri snorts, but it sounds hollower than usual. Yakov and Dr. Smirnov never shut up around each other, probably because they’re both excited to talk to someone their age (meaning someone old and annoying). After about ten minutes, Yuri’s certain that they move on to discussing things that are most definitely _not_ getting Yuri out of school legally.

He and Yakov eventually part ways when the latter has to take a different turn to access the office of the school principal. “Have fun!” Yuri calls after him once he’s certain Yakov close enough to the office ladies that he can’t yell back at Yuri without scaring them and damaging his reputation.  

Now, it’s time for Yuri to try and remember his damn schedule and where the classrooms are. It’s been some time since he last came here. Eventually, he manages to take a seat at the back of a classroom he vaguely remembers being in right before the bell rings, commencing the start of his literature class. Nice. A class all about studying the features of a text he barely knows the name of, much less the content. He won’t have to speak a single time.

“Hi Yuri.” A girl named Maria takes a seat next to him. She’s okay. Honestly, she’s probably the closest thing to a friend he has in this god-forsaken hell hole. The few times he’s even bothered coming to school he’s always tolerated Maria sitting with him at lunch.

He nods at her in response, trying to ignore the way the desks around him are rapidly filling up with people. The back of the classroom has never been this crowded before, Yuri notes with amusement.

While the teacher drones on and on about extended metaphors and the importance of annotations, Maria leans sideways towards Yuri. “How’s training?”

Yuri shrugs as about twenty people in the general vicinity of his desk try to subtly turn their ears his way. “Same as always. Competition season is mostly over, now I have an exhibition thing to do. Dumb as shit, but it’s fine.”

All of a sudden, he jerks in his seat as a sudden, sharp pain hits him in the abdomen. The initial pain fades into a dull, persistent throbbing after a few seconds, and Yuri manages to relax a bit in his seat.

“Are you okay?” Maria asks, thick brows creasing in concern.

Yuri nods stiffly, trying to calm his pounding heart.

The odd painful sensation seems to be a one time thing, as he sits through history class without another unpleasant interruption. Or, at least not one from his own body. Several of his peers seem to be intent on getting the full story of his presentation from his point of view, messaging him on social media throughout the period or passing him notes. It would’ve been nice if they were still scared of him and didn’t want to bother him too much, like the first time he went to school after winning the gold medal, but being an omega makes him more “approachable” now. Five of his messages say things like _‘you’re pretty’_ and _‘ur such an amazing skater it’s so cool’._ Well, he’s looked this way for quite some time now, and he’s also been skating since before he was an omega.

It’s a relief when the bell rings for lunch and Yuri gets to finally eat the food he’s packed in his bag. He’s not used to adhering to the student eating schedule, as he usually has to eat numerous snacks throughout the day to keep up his energy and a professional athlete. He manages to find Maria sitting at a table towards the side of the canteen, and takes his place across from her.

However, unlike usual, the cafeteria isn’t full of chatter and people sprawled all over in place. In fact, it’s rather quiet.

“Jesus, what’s going on today?” Yuri asks Maria, taking a huge chomp out of his apple.

“You,” Maria deadpans, shoveling soup into her mouth.

Yuri pauses to glance around the spacious canteen. At all of the tables, people are whispering and trying to glance at him inconspicuously. Or, at least, some are trying to be subtle. Others are entirely shameless.

One table in the center of the room keeps on turning around obnoxiously to look at him. Not even kidding. One of the girls sitting there is resting her face on her hand, giving him “the look”. Yuri groans as he catches a clear glimpse of her face.

Anastasiya Chernova is the most popular alpha at school. Interestingly enough, Yuri also suspects (knows) that she’s been in love with him for the better part of six years, though she’d be embarrassed if anyone suspected she liked the angsty absentee loner. Jocks are always supposed to like the pretty popular omegas.

 _Like me now,_ Yuri guesses as, just like clockwork, another painful pull in his abdomen greets him. Fuck.

She may be the flashiest looking out of the group, with her golden earrings and flawless skin and (artificial) silver hair, but Yuri can see the collection of other extremely popular and attractive alphas around the table, including a slightly-familiar looking lanky boy. He has wavy dark-brown hair, relatively pale skin scattered with moles, thick brows and an impish, annoying grin spreading from one giant ear to another.

Yuri squints at him.

The boy arches an eyebrow in response, dimples forming as his smile stretches impossibly wider.  

Yuri leans closer towards their table, nearing the edge of his bench. Where has he seen him before?

He raises one arm and waves at him nonchalantly, expression the perfect picture of amusement. Almost immediately, all of his companions snap out of whatever trance they were in, heads swiveling between the boy and Yuri.

Shit. Now they have an excuse to approach him, like they hadn’t been trying to catch his eye the whole time.

After Anastasiya rises, all the other alphas follow (Yuri will never understand their hierarchy code), and Yuri gets a better view of the boy. He’s that kind of elfish, lanky attractive that’s recently become trendy, decked in designer accessories on top of his uniform. And Yuri realizes - he’s one of the hockey players that practices at the rink. Yuri knows that he must be one of the younger players practicing to go professional. He’s had the pleasure of having more than just one unfortunate encounter with the hockey players - he sees them every week, amazingly!   

Fuck. Of course one of them goes to his school. Isn’t he kinda skinny for a hockey player? Oh nope, nevermind, his shoulders are bigger closer up.

Closer up.

Oh. They’re right in front of him.

“Hey Yura,” Anastasiya nods coolly at him. Her ponytail bobs with it, dark brown eyes fixated on him. Gone are the days of sparing tentative glances at him during school events and in the hallways - Yuri’s biology makes him socially-acceptable to find desirable now.

Yuri swivels his head from left to right, only to find that everyone in the canteen has stopped eating to stare. Even the custodians. Behind Anastasiya, hockey jerk starts laughing silently to himself.

“You look good today. Let’s meet up sometime, yeah?” Anastasiya cocks her head to the side, a small smirk spreading across her lips.

It reeks of alpha pheromones, and Yuri can’t stop the shiver that travels through his body. He’s so dead. He can’t believe he just did that, in front of the whole damn school. While the alpha pack snickers quietly, Anastasiya whips around to glare at them. She turns back to Yuri and coos.

“Poor baby. It’s not good to be so chilly, especially when you work your body so hard.” Yuri had a split second window to realize what was about to happen, but he remains frozen on his cafeteria seat as the school idol pulls off her uniform jacket and bends down to drape it over his slender shoulders. Now her face is right up in front of his, and Yuri can see all the miniscule freckles patterned across her arched nose. Her eyes really are _so_ dark.

“Hm. This won’t do on it’s own.” And with that, she unleashes the cascade of silver strands over her shoulder as she pulls out her scrunchie.

Has she always been this attractive? Yuri’s always heard giggling omegas and female betas in the hallways and stuff but he’s never really… noticed it.

Her fingers skim the sides of his face gently, weaving in between the strands of his hair. And he lets her touch him like this. In fact, Yuri doesn’t know if he can move. He feels his hair being tied back, away from his face. After Anastasiya is done, she smirks and pats him on top of his head, satisfied with her work. “Much better, we can see all of your face. Make sure you come find me later to return it… if you want.”

Yuri feels numb as the group of alphas retreat, slinging their bags onto their shoulders and making their way out the canteen. As soon as they leave, the entire room seems to unfreeze, returning back to their lunches. Yuri finally feels less fuzzy and more aware of his senses and he exhales slowly.

“She just… gave her jacket to you. And her scrunchie,” Maria gapes. “Holy shit, Yuri. You’re a legend. You’re a goddamn legend.”

“Whatever,” Yuri grumbles. The jacket’s ugly as shit, but it really is quite warm. He tries to suppress the small pool of pleasure sitting in his belly.

Stupid hormones.

 

The stubborn pull in his guts returns and continues throughout math class, repeating every few seconds. Yuri’s no stranger to pain, but it feels like someone is twisting his internal organs as painfully as they can, all while digging their nails into his skin. He’s dealt with painful blisters from breaking in skates, canker sores galore, but right now Yuri is seriously considering tearing off his skinny jeans if it helps relieve the pain in his abdomen. They escalate rapidly, until the point that Yuri has to hold in whimpers - is he dying? Eventually, he asks to be excused by the teacher, who looks surprised to see him in her classroom, but agrees nonetheless.

The trek towards the bathrooms is a slow and painful journey, especially when Yuri has to turn around and re-navigate his way to the omega bathrooms instead of the beta boys. Once he hits the restroom, he immediately . The last time he felt this kind of pain was when he was about to go into heat last month.

Wait. Yuri ducks into a stall and, with trembling fingers, unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down. There, in his underwear, he sees deep russet discharge.

Oh _hell_ no.

This cannot be happening. Yuri knows the biological cycle of omegas from a classroom point-of-view, but he had forgotten what now applied to him. Since he hadn’t gotten pregnant during his heat, he’s being punished by his body. He’s heard horror stories in passing from omegas and female betas, though he’d always tried to avoid hearing anything about… _the dreaded period._ Is this really what cramps feel like? Jesus, no wonder people feel like dying during their periods.

He doesn’t know what to do - holy shit, is he going to die from blood loss if he doesn’t make it clot somehow? It’s not much blood at the moment but what if it suddenly gets worse? Yuri pulls his phone out of his hoodie pocket and shoots quick texts to Katsudon in rapid succession, asking for help. But in a cool way. Because, you know, he can’t show weakness to the competition.

After a while, though, it’s obvious that Katsudon isn’t responding which is kind of inconvenient because Yuri is on his way to a mental breakdown.

Okay.

This is fine. He can do this. He’s handled the Olympics and a career in professional sports, he can handle his own uterus’ fury. Yuri quickly looks up on the internet what to do during your first period (he cringes at typing the word), and a link gives him a description of different products he can try, in different varieties. He doesn’t know quite what “wings” are, but they sound essential to have. There’s a convenience store a couple of blocks from his school, most kids go there during breaks to get snacks, but they should have some sort of… _supplies_ for this kind of thing. And maybe some painkillers.

There’s just one problem: if he has to sneak out, he’ll risk getting caught by school security for trying to cut class and sneak off grounds without a pass. He doesn’t really want to risk getting in trouble for bad behavior, especially with Yakov probably still yammering away to the principal. It’s not like he can just let himself bleed out through his jeans though, right?

… Right?

Yuri tucks some toilet paper into his underwear for insurance and, taking a deep breath, makes his way out of the bathroom. He peeks out the hallway, glancing left and right to scan for any of his classmates. Thankfully, it seems to be empty, most of his peers in their classrooms (where he’s _technically_ supposed to be, but tough times call for tough circumstances.

If he makes it out the double doors at the end of the long hallway, he can walk through the back courtyard and to the next stoplight fairly easily. Assuming there’s no security guards patrolling there.

Yuri steels himself, preparing to go as quietly and quickly as possible to get out. _This is my chance_. Yuri quickly exits the bathroom, trying to walk as nonchalantly as possible in case any of the teachers look outside their doors too carefully. Once he passes the last classroom lining the hall, he breaks into a sprint despite the pain in his hips, he’s about to make it out he can -

He hits someone very solid as they round the corner. Yuri has a split second to realize that he’s fucked up, very, very badly. He expects to look up and see the face of one of the brutal security guards at his school, but he finds something much worse.

“ _You_ ,” Yuri gasps. It’s the hockey boy from lunch, generally a quiet member of the team but annoying nonetheless. “Why are _you_ here?”

This is bad. Very, very bad.

“Working,” the boys smirks and taps a bright yellow band around his wrist. His voice is higher and clearer than Yuri had imagined it to be. “I’m on duty, just doing what the upstanding leader of the school patrol does. Keeping students in line, the hallways safe. Great way to get out of class.”

“We have a fucking school patrol?” Yuri deadpans, trying to keep his expression neutral. Because he can’t resist thinking it: that’s kind of badass.

“Yep. You’re looking at a level three violation according to the student handbook, Mr. Plisetsky.” The boy mockingly waggles his finger at him.

Yuri groans, throwing his hands out to his sides. “Fuck off. Don’t you have better things to do with your time? You don’t know what I was even planning on doing.”

“I’m very happy with my job, it’s a great way to meet people and get out of class. Plus, I think I’m great at reading student behavior. And since you’re not in uniform _and_ you were making a run for it, I know you’re trying to skip.”

Yuri grits his teeth, feeling annoyance buzzing within him. “Well, you suck at reading behavior. I’m not trying to skip, I just need to get something. So could you _please_ make an exception this time?”

The boy taps his chin a couple of times. “You’re a pretty badass skater. But sorry, no. You see, I have a good reputation to uphold. It’s nothing personal, I bust Grisha and Stasya all the time. Also, there’s a security camera they installed right out the doors, so I’m really helping you out. You’ve just avoided getting marked for an unexcused absence. You’re welcome.”

Yuri clenches his fist. Breathe in, out. “Alright, how do I get an excused absence?”

“The only way to do that is to have a parent or guardian sign a note, or you could be on school patrol - then you can leave anytime you want.”

Well. The first one is out of the question. He doesn’t want to have to talk to Yakov and risk getting a second biology talk. The first one was bad enough. Yuri sighs, slumping his shoulders. “Can I join school patrol?”

“Nope!” The boy grins, flashing his dimples. “Applications were due five months ago. But I admire your desire to be an upstanding member of the school community. However, I do hear that the valiant leader is willing to help omegas in need and go to the convenience store. For a price, of course.”

This bastard. Yuri’s about to unleash a wave of curses upon him, but another wave of cramps hits him, this time accompanied by a gush of dampness in between his legs. And that’s when Yuri’s reminded of his predicament.

Beggars can’t be choosers. He can’t fight his biology, especially when it puts him at the bottom of the bunch in life. He hates himself right now, but he has time to dwell on that later, when his body isn’t tearing itself apart. Right now, he just needs relief.

“What’s your price?” Yuri mumbles quietly.

The boy’s face brightens up immediately, like a lightbulb. “Glad you asked. Can you take a picture with me? I need to post it on Instagram for a bet.”

_“A bet?”_

The boy whistles nonchalantly, tucking his hands into his trousers. “Yeah. Gotta make the ex jealous, you know? Plus, it would drive my friends insane with jealousy. Also, people in my chemistry class don’t believe we share the same rink even after I told the story of how you stumbled and got angry at the team. You’re very clumsy, you know.”

Yuri summons all of the bitterness in his body and channels it into the withering glare he sends him

“Alright, alright. What do you need?” The boy lowers his voice. “Like.. what substances are you talking about? Because depending on what it is, I can’t do it. I can’t afford to be caught with illegal shit, not if I’m gonna go pro.”

“ _No,_ I’d never -” Yuri’s face heats up. “It’s not drugs, okay? I need -” He pauses. All of a sudden, the crux of the problem hits Yuri - he has no fucking idea what he needs.

The boy arches a dark brow at him, tapping his foot. “Yes?”

Yuri squeezes his eyes shut, tingles running up and down his spine. Finally, he bursts.

“It’s my period, _okay?_ I’m in pain and angry and the longer you spend being annoying the closer I am to committing murder. I-” Yuri falters for a second and inhales deeply, feeling sickness in his stomach.. “Just buy _something_ for it, okay? Like just pads and painkillers and shit. You know what I mean!” Yuri grabs some spare bills from his hoodie pocket and shoves it into the boy’s hand.

He expects the worst reaction, but the boy just nods sagely in response. No snide comments. No immature looks. No laughter.  “ _Ahh_ , I see how it is. Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha. I’m an expert on this stuff by now, thanks to my ex.” He grins at Yuri and performs a small bow.  “Ilya Grigorievich Liski, at your service.”

He turns and, on the way out, he shoots a grin at Yuri. “I’m still holding you to that selfie,” he winks.

Yuri rolls his eyes and flips him off in response, sliding to the floor. Once the doors have shut, he buries his face in his knees. Jesus fucking Christ. He doesn’t know if he’s done anything this stupid before in his life, holy shit. He just invited one of his worst enemies (kind of) into the narrative of the most embarrassing moment of his life.

He can’t deny, though, how relieved he feels now.

After a while, Ilya returns. He kicks open one of the double doors, carrying two plastic bags spilling over with various bright boxes and packages. Yuri gapes. It looks like someone vomited rainbows and cardboard all over the place. Ilya as he deposits the plastic bags at Yuri’s feet.

Yuri grabs for one of the bags, surprised at the weight. Sure enough, inside there’s chocolate bars, about twenty boxes of tampons from various brands, and multicolored plastic-wrapped packages of sanitary pads.  There’s also a plastic container of Motrin, thank God.

Yuri tilts his head up to look at Ilya, who’s smiling smugly at him. Is he Jesus? Is any of this real?  

“This… this is is way more than I needed. How did you even afford this? I gave you pocket change, what the fuck is this?” Yuri babbles, unable to keep his mouth from hanging open.

Ilya shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “Eh, the price was nothing compared to my usual convenience store trips. It’s only the best condoms and face wash for me. Gotta keep this mug beautiful, you know?”

Yuri snorts, unimpressed, but arches a brow at him persistently.

“Alright, alright, I used some of my own. Don’t worry about it. Besides,” Ilya wiggles his brows at him. “If it’ll make you not collapse on the ice again in front of the team then it’s fine.”

Yuri squawks indignantly and flips him off again. This time, there’s less heart put into it.

 

**Exhibit D**

 

The girl can’t be a day over twelve. She’s small, like kids usually are. She’s brunette, like many kids are. She’s now Yakov’s youngest student, like only _one_ kid can be.

Like Yuri _was_.

“Yuri,” Yakov says gruffly. “This is Olga. She will be training with us now.” It sounds calm on the surface, but Yuri can hear the warning behind it to behave from years of experience. Can the girl hear it too? She probably can’t. Amateur.

Yuri stares at the girl™. She stares back, progressively shy by the second, a small blush spreading across her cheeks.

“I’m a big fan of yours,” she says meekly, ducking her head down towards her skates. They’re plain and white. Boring.

Yuri nods to her before turning and exiting the rink, stomping his way over to where Viktor is sitting on the bleachers. He has a pad of paper out in front of him, pencil resting on his lips. He has his stupid thinking expression on, meaning he’s probably choreographing something.

“Yurio,” he says distractedly, making a few markings on the paper. “Have you met the new girl?”

Yuri rolls his eyes and scoffs in response, only getting even more annoyed when Viktor laughs at him. “You were never going to stay the youngest forever, silly. She’s a sweet girl, too. A fan of yours, I suspect.”

Yuri huffs indignantly. He _knew that_ of course, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it. He’s not even old like Viktor, so it’s not like he needs to worry or anything. “Where’s your better half?” He asks, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, I let him sleep in. He tires during our nights, and he’s not a morning person either. I figured I’d let him rest, coaches’ orders.”

That’s when Yuri notices quite how much Viktor smells like Katsudon, along with… other pheromones. He’s probably gone off of scent blockers and other hormones treatments entirely, now that he’s retired. Which means that now, Yuri can smell their bonding very clearly… very, very clearly “ _Ew_ , you’re perverted and gross. Stop doing this to Katsudon, he’s too good for you.”

“I won’t deny that,” he says dreamily, cerulean eyes becoming dreamy and distracted. “But _Kotyonok_ , it’s time for you to grow up. Mating is very important to staying healthy, emotionally and physically. It’s not just for -”

Yuri backs away immediately, face burning. “ _Stop, stop_ , I already heard Yakov’s sex ed talk, I don’t need to hear anymore from you!”

Viktor simply shrugs and shifts his attention back to drafting Katsudon’s next routine. While the two of them sit in silence, Yuri suddenly notices that a small group of unfamiliar skaters has started to trickle into the rink.

“Oi, Viktor.” Yuri nudges him in the side. “Who are these bitches coming here during our practice time?”

Viktor raises his head and leans forward to catch a glimpse of them, sniffing a couple of times. “They’re some of the skaters from a rink across the city. You might’ve met some of them before. Ekaterina Kyznetsova has represented Russia in women’s singles before moving to pairs. Mila speaks of her… not too fondly.”

There’s a hint of something dark marring the usually relaxed, suave tone of Viktor’s voice. Yuri points that out to him snidely.

Viktor’s eyes narrow, jaw clenched. “They’ve said some very... heinous things to Yuuri, particularly surrounding our relationship. Back when we first moved to Saint Petersburg together, it was difficult for him.  I’m not particularly fond of them, much to their dismay.”

Yuri snorts as he examines the skaters up and down as they greet Yakov. He can imagine exactly what sorts of things they had to say to Yuuri Katsuki, the national hero’s foreign sweetheart. They’re extremely made-up, bright red lipstick smeared across their lips. He can smell the scent-enhancing perfume they’re wearing from over here, and Yuri swears that if they put on even a tiny spritz more, he might have an asthma attack.

“You’ve never slept with any of them, right?” Yuri asks on impulse. It’s well known that athletes tend to sleep around with each other quite frequently, and Viktor Nikiforov had been one of the hottest bachelors before Katsudon had arrived.

Viktor just stays silent. Yuri’s jaw drops in horror.

“Oh my God,” he chokes. “I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry. How many of them? I bet you lead them on or something, you hoe.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Yurio,” Viktor frowns, pouting defensively. “I’ve never slept with any of them. I wasn’t interested then, and I’m not interested now.”

“Alright, but you’re still a hoe - just saying. I’ve seen the old tabloids, you were on the cover all the time! And yet you still get upset if any alphas even _look_ at Katsudon for too long. Double standards,” Yuri sticks his nose in the air primly.

“I’d never judge Yuuri, or any omega for that matter, for their sex lives. You’re so young that you may not know this, but the tabloids are always full of lies. My career was always of greater importance than any relationship or party,  but they need to compensate for the lack of drama,” Viktor rattles off, continuing to make marks on the paper. “Also, alphas should know where to keep their eyes on a mated omega, I simply need to remind them sometimes. Just as Yuuri does with me - he’s very possessive you know.”

Yuri grits his teeth. If there’s anything that he finds annoying about Viktor, aside from his forgetfulness and disgusting talent, it’s how he always has a tendency to talk to him like he’s an ignorant kid. “Oi, you bastard, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know about fake news. Stop treating me like a baby!”

Viktor pauses and gives him one of those annoying, blank looks. “Yurio, you’re really going through puberty, aren’t you?”

Yuri grunts in frustration, pulling up his hood and turning away from Viktor. He sighs dramatically. “It’s like this rink isn’t even ours anymore. The new girl, now these hags. I thought we already had it bad enough with the bastard hockey team!”

Viktor continues to mostly ignore him, making a small sound of acknowledgement. “If they ever bother you, you can tell Yuuri and I. They’re not bad people, but I agree they’re not the most tasteful. Or graceful.”

“Too late, they already have. They won’t leave me alone. You know, I’ve even overheard them saying things about Katsudon before.”

  
Viktor’s scent turns cold. His face sharpens. Yuri has his full attention now. “What sorts of... _things?_ ”

 _Gotcha._ Yuri smirks, “Things about his full hips and thighs, and how nice and tiny his waistline is. They called him the ‘ideal omega’ - their words, not mine. Just saying, watch out, because some of the things they said were definitely… suggestive.”

There’s a low rumbling sound between the two of them, and it takes Yuri some time to realize it’s Viktor growling. His eyes have turned sharp and murderous, and his body is so tense that Yuri fears he’s about to snap the pencil in half. Viktor Nikiforov is _competitive._ Nobody takes what’s his.

Yuri cackles, pointing his finger at him. “You see? Not something to just brush off or ignore when it’s happening to your mate. Welcome to the life of an omega!”

Viktor sighs, finally setting down the clipboard. “Look, Yurio, I’m nearing the end of my twenties - not old by the way,” he interjects. “But if there’s one universal truth I’ve learnt is that no matter how far we’ve come in the world regarding dynamics and biology, there’s always going to be one fool that messes it all up.”

“Omegas are… irresistable. It’s not just stereotypes or specific to one dynamic, there’s just an urge to behave differently around them. You can’t just rely on what you think you know about the world now, _kotyonok_. Most people won’t try anything, but it only takes one bad person to change everything.”

“So basically, I’m fucked and doomed to a life of sexual harassment,” Yuri rolls his eyes. “Nice to know we’re not the fortunate ones.”

Viktor chuckles and reaches his hand out to pat his hair affectionately, which Yuri tries to duck away from. “Lots of people are willing to help you. Yuuri and I care about you, despite your bad personality. I’d walk through a fire for you. Or maybe just a really hot room. Or maybe not, because my hair.”

“Wow,” Yuri hisses, elbowing him. “Such loyalty. What a moving example. I know who I’m _not_ calling for when I need help.”

“Who else could you call?” Viktor raises a pale brow smugly. Yuri feels the sudden urge to slap him.

“Beka,” the words come out uncertain even to his own mouth, though, the way things are right now.

Viktor hums absentmindedly, mood shifting once again. He returns to moving his pencil across the paper. “Otabek Altin. He’s an interesting one.”

“How so?”

“He appears very composed, but you can see it. Underneath the surface, he bleeds passion and intensity in abundance.” Viktor pauses and taps his finger to his mouth. “I wonder what would happen if you scraped him bloody and raw until it flowed out of him and made a river.”

Yuri stares at him, disgusted. “You need a fucking therapist.”

“But anyway-” Viktor replies cheerfully. “Many people are here for you. Just take any of your friends, for example! That is, if you have them.”

 _“_ Fuck off, _I do_ ,” Yuri spits at him. But the thing is, he’s starting to not believe it himself.

 

 

  
Later that day, Yuri comes home to new packages full of clothes from sponsors and hopeful business partners, including an up-and-coming athleisure brand that’s been contacting him for a campaign. There’s a package of some fan letters, which he tosses on his grey bedspread lazily before trying on some of the clothes.

One of the gifts is a cropped crewneck sweatshirt, made out of neoprene and patterned with neon leaves and animals. It’s more effeminate than some of the clothes, he’s received in the past, but Yuri’s always been fairly flexible with his wardrobe. He shrugs it on after stripping his upper body, and admires the way it complements the v-line of his abs. He snaps a couple of mirror selfies of himself in the mirror, lifting his arm just a touch so that the hem of the sweater will pull up and show even more of his waist.

Then he sends them to Otabek.

While waiting for a response, Yuri sighs, lying back on his bed. It’s at times like this that he likes to close his eyes and _feel_ , think of what could be instead of what is. Skating is his life. It’s his passion, he’s _good_ at it, and whenever he completes a routine he can bask in the adrenaline, the glow that he gets from feeling the satisfaction of performing perfectly. But it’s not all it’s cracked up to be sometimes. He’d never had a real friend or really had contact with anyone in his age group, as he spent his years in the studio and on the rink instead of in school or at the cinema.

Until Otabek.  

This past year of his life he’d been able to experience life outside of skating. Instead of days spent sleeping on the bleachers or babied and left behind, albeit not maliciously, by the older rinkmates, he’s been in the locker rooms, beside the rink, around the world, whispering and laughing and falling for Otabek. Watching Otabek open up to him and show how alive he feels. Opening up to him, and feeling accepted and -

And _loved._

One night, after a regional competition in Almaty, Beka’s hometown, the two of them had goofed off for hours in the parking lot of the rink. It hadn’t been too late, as the two of them had managed to ditch the banquet early, claiming they were especially exhausted. Instead, the two of them met with a few of Otabek’s friends.

Yuri had been surprised at how much he actually liked them. They were loud, they were wild, and full of trouble (which had pleasantly surprised Yuri, considering they were friends with _Otabek._ But then again, so was he, so he supposes Otabek has a type). They brought with them a cooler full of alcohol (which Otabek would not let Yuri take more than a couple sips of). They _also_ weren’t afraid to tease Otabek relentlessly and tell Yuri all of his embarrassing childhood stories.

“Listen, Yuri,” one of them, Askar, had panted after taking a swig of alcohol. He was working as a bartender in a strip club and was full of witty jokes and wild stories. “I like you. You and Beka get along really well. I like you a lot better than any of the other people he’s introduced us to.”

Madina had groaned, twirling around strands of her purple hair. “God, do you remember that bitch that he ‘dated’ in third grade? Jesus, he was crazy. Otabek even bought him roses and everything but he just told him that he wanted a different color. Broke our Beka’s poor heart.”

“Or when he tried to ask out that girl in middle school who he didn’t even like just because she had big boobs? Remember that?” Askar choked in response, cackling at the memory.

Otabek’s face was more or less neutral, but to a trained eye one could see the way his ears were slightly tipped with pink. He rolled his eyes, grinning good-naturedly. “And you guys wonder why I don’t hang out with you any more.”

He seemed younger, looser with his movements and words in his own country, with his own friends. Yuri couldn’t keep his eyes of him, the way his onyx hair was slipping out of the hold of the gel and falling across his forehead, the glint of life in his eyes.

He was the most beautiful thing Yuri had seen.

“You’re just too worried about your image, Mr. ‘Hero of Kazakhstan’,” Gulnara huffed, tipping her bottle back. “Think about the little people, too.”

And so it went, the five of them talking and joking around through the night, as if they’d been old friends their whole life. The best part was, it felt completely natural. He didn’t feel awkward around them at all. Beka never treated him like he was stupid or ignorant because of his age. Yakov would have his head the next morning after finding out he hadn’t been in his hotel room, but it was completely worth it.

Of course, eventually three of them quickly approached intoxication, while Yuri and Otabek were sober. Yuri, because he was a minor with too much to lose, and Otabek, because he was planning on driving Yuri back to his hotel.

“You know,” Otabek sighed after a while. “Thanks for coming out here and meeting with Yuri, but I’m going to call it a night for the two of us.”

His friends had protested, asking why they were leaving so soon, and Yuri had dreaded having to explain that it was due to the curfew on his contract, courtesy of Yakov. However, Otabek had brushed it off, claiming that he was exhausted from the free program and that his mother would be worrying about him soon.

“Alright, old man. But don’t think you’ve seen the last of us. Thanks for coming out Yuri, you’re a fucking legend,” Askar hollered at them, waving goodbyes to the two of them as they mounted Otabek’s motorcycle. Yuri gave a thumbs up back, unable to hide how widely he was grinning.  

The breeze had felt good running against Yuri’s skin in the late summer heat, and Yuri sighed and leaned forward onto Otabek’s back, inhaling the scent of his leather jacket. The lights of the city sped past them as the two of them raced through the city, retracing the veins of streets Otabek had grown up with.

For some reason, though, they ended up stopping at a playground a few blocks away from the hotel Yuri was staying at, wandering through the trees and eventually sitting down on a bench. The moonlight had shone through the leaves above them, patterning Otabek’s bronzed skin.

“You know, most of the time parks are where the sketchy drug deals go down at night,” Yuri had teased him, trying to stop the pounding of his heart. “What are your intentions for taking me here?”

Otabek had laughed, deep and rich. It was such a rare sound, and Yuri wanted to drown in it. Somehow they ended up leaning in, closer and closer together. Until Otabek’s forehead was almost touching his own. He felt short of breath, hesitant to breathe with Otabek so close to him, his eyelashes almost brushing his cheeks.

Fuck breathing. He didn’t need anything but this.

“You’re really something else, you know that?” Otabek had whispered, almost reverently. Their faces had been so close that Yuri wonders what could’ve happened, what could’ve happened if he had gone for it.

“You really think so?” He had asked, scared to speak above a whisper.

_I want to touch you again. What would’ve happened if I had done it? What if I managed to catch him off guard again, to have him bleed passion for me?_

The buzz of his phone against his waist rouses him from his all-too-frequent daydream. Yuri jumps to unlock his phone.

 

**New Message(s) From: Beka (ര̀ᴗര́)و ̑̑**

 

_You’ve gained some weight._

_[18:32]_

_It looks good on you._

_[18:32]_

 

Yuri licks his lips, feeling a short thrill run through him after the initial scare of the first message. He glances down at his belly. Had he really gained weight? How was that possible? He hadn’t changed his diet or his training recently? Yuri takes a deep breath, steels himself before responding.

 

_do you want to see more?_

_[18:33]_

 

Shit. _Shit_. That sounds so suggestive, how had Yuri not noticed that? What if Otabek finally finds everything out because of this message? Fuck, fuck, how does he delete his message?

Then again, hadn’t Yuri already done more than this to try and entice Otabek, unsuccessfully? He sees the typing bubble animation from Otabek’s end before it abruptly stops. Then returns. Then he receives a notification.

**New Message(s) From: Beka (ര̀ᴗര́)و ̑̑**

 

_Sorry, I have to go._

_[18:33]_

_I’m sorry about being so busy recently._

_[18:33]_

 

_If there’s anything you need to talk about, new updates on your mother or anything,_

_just let me know and I’ll get back to you._

_[18:34]_

 

For a second, Yuri thinks about telling him to not go, that he isn’t finished talking to him.

But he doesn’t. He lets him slip through his fingers, even though it’s what’s been haunting him for the past month. He doesn’t tell him about Ilya, or his day at school, or how the hockey team wants him now. He doesn’t tell him about how upset he was when he didn’t get anything special from him for his birthday. He’s not quite sure what it is, but there’s something telling Yuri that it would be a bad idea to. Yuri wishes he knew what it was.

But he doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohohoh new characters. New drama. Just kidding, most of the skaters will be flying in next chapter, which is where the story actually picks up this is all for fun. 
> 
> Also if there's any errors you see feel free to point them out. I rarely write fics linearly so there will probs be some notes in here. 
> 
> Feel free to drop a comment, I love hearing your thoughts and ideas

**Author's Note:**

> Congrats if you got through that, I cringed so hard as I wrote this. I was not expecting to be writing even semi sexual content this early so JESUS. I wanted to write something that I'd personally like to read, but I'm still having trouble developing my style in this story.
> 
> I really don't know where I'm going with this, but I wanted to explore this kind of ABO dynamic thing and how it shapes society further than just hot sex (although that’s also still pretty nice). This is going to be focused on Yuri's relationships with the other skaters, himself, and not just romance. I also really wanted to show Yuuri and Yuri's adorable relationship. Yuri’s still a minor right now, folks.
> 
> I've had to take quite a few liberties with canon, as there's a lack of a lot of information about Yuri's life (there's only one season guys, come on), so if you have any questions please comment them. I have a pretty detailed headcanon verse for this ABO thing so if it's confusing I'm not surprised.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, I've started writing another chapter, maybe one day I'll finish it ;) ~


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